


"-^. ,# 

,^^^. 












'-%. 



.N^ 



.^^ <2^ 



.N^ 




^V/A^^ ^^.<<# *^^^- ^- -^ 



.-•^-v-* 











^d< <^' 






"•^^o^ 



■^^0^ 



}> 9^ 










7.o>o 



:^d< 













■^Ao^ 






V- o ca * v>^>^ r: 









'•■' r^^.s. 



'■^^0^ 















"b^ 



"^ •. . , '-^. ■ V''' ■!- 






■^^d< 



-^Ac 



, \ »■ '>.^^ 17 o A \ V <_y » 'J t>- ^ 



.^ 


















•J^^' 

^^^^- 



■^AO^ 












^^o^ 



^^d< 



> <? '^ * '-^*\ ^ r <3 '^ ■* Vft* /' 






?*'.< , 










BOY AND THE BIRDS. 



EMILY TAYLOR. 



PROM THE LONDON EDITION. 

WITH ADDITIONAL PIECES 

ILLUSTRATED 

WITH TWENTY-FIVE ENGRAVINOS, 

CHIEFLY FROM LANDSEER'S 

DESIGNS, 



NEW-YORK: 
GENERAL PROTESTANT EPISCOPAL S. S. UNION, 

DANIEL DANA Jr. AGENT, 

Depository 20 John Street. 
1849 



QLcnc 



T 



n> / 



T sHALii not ask Jean Jaques Rousseau 

If birds confabulate, or no : 

'Tis clear that they •were always able 

To hold discourse at least in fable. 

And even the child who knows no better 

Than to interpret by the letter 

A story of a cock and bull, 

Must have a most \incomnion skull. 

COWPEB. 



^.>. 



Oi^^^'f^^^ 



Stereotyped by Vincent 1.. Dili. 
Printed by PtXDNET & Russan,. 



/ 



CS"? 



CONTENTS. 



^? 







Page 


The Sky-lark 


• • 


7 


The Puffin-auk, or Coulterneb 


14 


The Quail. 


. 


22 


The Chimney Swallow . 


• 


24 


The Great Tit, and Little Blue Tit 


30 


The Long-Tailed Tit 


, , 


37 


The Golden Eagle 


• • 


42 


The Eagle . 


• • 


55 


The Fish-Hawk, or Osprey 


• • 


57 


The Rook 


• • 


64 


The Willow Wren 


, , 


76 


The Turtle Dove . 


• 


83 


The Golden-crested Wren 


• 


85 


The Woodpecker . 


, 


92 


The Robin Red-breast and Cuckoo 


102 


The Peacock 




. 119 


The Little Brown Wren 


• • 


122 


The Fern Owl 




. 128 


The Eider Duck 


, , 


135 


The Hen 




. 144 


The Ger, Jer or Gyr-Falcon 


, , 


146 


The Bank Swallows 




. 161 


The Woodpecker 


• • 


167 


The Humming Birds 




. 180 



" In one of my late visits to a friend in 
the country, I found the youngest son, a 
fine boy of eight or nine years of age, who 
usually resides in town for his education, 
just returning from a ramble through the 
neighbouring woods and fields, where he 
had collected a large and handsome bunch 
of wild flowers, of a great many different 
colours ; and, presenting them to his moth- 
er, said, with much animation in his coun- 
tenance, ' Look, my dear mamma, what 
beautiful flowers I have found growing in 
our place ! Why all the woods are fuU 
of them ! — red, orange, blue, almost every 
colour. Oh, I could gather you a whole 
parcel of them, much handsomer than these; 



all growing in our own woods ! Shall I, 
mamma? shall I go and bring you more?' 

'' The good woman received the bunch 
of flowers with a smile, and the little fel- 
low went off to execute his delightful com- 
mission. 

" The similarity of this little boy's en- 
thusiasm to my own struck me ; and the 
reader will need no explanations of mine 
to make the apphcation. Should my coun- 
try receive with the same gracious indul- 
gence the specimens which I here humbly 
present her — should she express a desire 
for me to ' go and bring her more,' the 
highest wishes of my ambition will be 
gratified ; for, in the language of my little 
friend, 'the whole woods are full of them,' 
and I can collect hundreds more, ' much 
handsomer than these.' "-^Alexander Wil- 
son. — Preface to the American Or- 
nithology. 




BKY-LAUK.. 



THE SKY-LARK. 



" Where the grey clouds their parting make, 

There in the dawn am I : 
The early sun has seen me take 

Gaily my flight on high. 
Who does not love the cheerful lark. 

Whose song is still of joy ? 
Merrily singing, up he goes ; 

Good bye, dull earth, good bye." 

AIRS OF THE RHINE. 



Boy. You merry, merry creature — you 
elegant creature ! twining up to the sky, 
more like a curling wreath of smoke, or the 
mist from a mountain stream, than any thing 
else ; where did you learn that beautiful, 
airy flight of yours, and that yet more beau- 
tiful song? 



8 THE SKY-LARK. 

Lark. Where"? — In the fresh fields, 
where I was born ; where my father sang 
before me, and my brothers learned to sing. 
My song came I know not how, in gushes, 
when I was twining upward, as you say, 
Uke a vapour. Where should a lark learn 
to sing but in the free air? Why do not 
ifou sing ? 

Boy. Oh ! I can never sing Uke you. 

Lark. Perhaps not my notes ; but have 
you never felt the gush of song at your very 
heart ? When the birds and the bees, and 
the winds and waters sung and w^histled 
and murmured together, could you help 
joining? No: I think I heard your merry 
whistle even now, as you came bounding 
over the stile to see me. A little more lib- 
erty, a little more breathing in this summer 
air, and it will be a song. Yes, I think you 
will sing. 

Boy. Will you teach me, pretty bird ? 

Lark. I am teaching you : and when 
you have caught a little of my joyous spirit, 
you will learn apace. Some boys stay 



THE SKY-LARK. 9 

within doors and pore over books too long 
to be good singers. I am glad to see you 
do not : you are an early riser too. 

Boy. Yes ; for I have plenty of book- 
work to do in the day, and therefore I am 
glad to come abroad before my busy time 
begins. I cannot sing all day like you, bird. 

Lark. I sing all day ! you are very 
much mistaken. There is not a busier bird 
in the air than I am : my songs only come in 
between my labours ; and may show you 
that it does not hurt people to work hard if 
other things be right. 

Boy. But what are you so busy about? 

Lark. My nestlings take up good part 
of my summer. Did you know that I have 
two broods to rear in the course of the warm 
months ? Four or five young ones are 
scarcely fledged and sent into the world, 
before the same work is to come over again. 

Boy. And I must say I think you expose 
your young to great dangers. When most 
other birds are making their nests in snug 
bushes, or on trees, how comes it that you 



10 THE SKY-LARK. 

should place yours on the bare ground 
among the clods of the ploughed field, oi 
hardly sheltered by tufts of grass ? 

Lark. I allow that at first glance it 
seems very imprudent ; but yet, if you 
knew what a multitude of larks are reared 
safely every summer, you would not think 
us so foolish, perhaps. For my part, I never 
could see much safety in a tree. School- 
boys have a genius for finding out nest? 
placed in that position ; but they do not so 
often track us in ploughed lands or in lon^ 
grass. The mower is our worst enemy, of 
the human race. Pray observe too, ho^^ 
well we are fitted by our dusky plumage foi 
the sort of nestling-places we prefer, anc: 
how conveniently we are situated as to food 
for our young. Field-insects and worms 
abound near us ; and thus much time and 
labour, which other birds endure in seeking 
nourishment, is spared us. 

Boy. I have heard you are very fond of 
your young ones, though you have so many 

Lark. Oh yes ; often I am in great dan- 



THE SKY-LARK. 11 

ger myself, from my care for them. I can- 
not help fluttering over their heads, when I 
should do much better to keep on the ground 
by their side ; but I cannot be quiet when I 
think them in peril. I do not often lose a 
brood : though sometimes a weasel will 
suck my eggs. The dangerous time for 
larks is in autumn, when we all flock to- 
gether ; then we are reckoned good eating, 
and in some parts of the country we are 
caught by dozens, and sent to the London 
markets. I have heard of as many as four 
thousand dozen being caught in one winter, 
near Dunstable. In winter our food is, more 
than in summer, on seeds. Seeds of annual 
weeds, which are scattered about the mea- 
dows and ploughed land ; and in this re- 
spect we are of great service to the farmer. 

Boy. I have often observed your plu- 
mage and your crested heads, which look so 
Hke in colour to the clods ; and, though you 
are not gay in your colours, I must say your 
sprightliness and elegant shape always made 
me think you a pretty bird. 



12 THE SKY-LARK. 

Lark. And pray look at my foot. How 
nicely it is fitted for the work it has to do. 




You may imagine what a spring we can 
make, w^ith this elegant instrument, from the 
elastic grass we tread upon. 

Boy. Beautiful ! and again you are 
mounting, pretty creature, in your spiral 
course. Singing, too ! oh, how sweetly ! 
Plenty of songsters have sung of you at all 
events ; {si?igs) " Hark ! hark ! the lark at 
Heaven's gate sings," — that is one song ; 
and then there is another, and I think that 
is Shakspear's too : 



" Lo ! how the gentle lark, weary of rest, 
From his moist cabinet mounts up on high, 
And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast 
The sun ariseth in true majesty." 



THE SKY-LARK. 13 

Well ! this is merry work. Lark, lark ! 
I must bid you good bye. The sun is high 
in the heavens now, and I cannot stay with 
you longer. 

Lark. *' Adieu, dear, dear, adieu."* 



* Taken from Sylvester's imitation of the note of this bird 
in the following stanza : 

" The pretty lark, climbing the welkin clear, 
Chaunts, with a ' cheer, here, pere, I near my dear:* 
Then stooping thence, seeming her fall to rue, 
' Adieu,' she saith, ' adieu, dear, dear, adieu ' " 



PUFFINAUK, OR COULTERNEB, 

Puffin. Well, I know I am an odd- 
looking bird ; you need not say anything 
about it. The puffin family has a character 
of its own. We are all respectable people, 
very : there is something of the steady old 
housekeeper-look about us. We do not hke 
to be put out of our way : we have a set- 
tled fashion of waiting to receive our com- 
pany in a very erect posture, as you see; 
we should think it indecorous to move out 
of the perpendicular. These are puffin 
manners ; — not so light and elegant, per- 
haps, as those of some other birds, and 
yet surely they are very composed, very 
dignified. Our whole appearance and tone^ 



. t 




1'UFFlN-A.tfX, OR COaLTKElN EB. 



THE PUFFIN. 15 

we think, is that of grave, thinking birds — 
birds that know how to behave themselves, 
that are not carried away by every Hght 
fashion or fantasy ; and really if you would 
come and visit our little party of about 
fifty thousand, at the old family seat at 
Puffin's island, you would give us credit 
for the order of our domestic arrangements. 
I should be sorry to be guilty of the 
meanness of puffing the puffins ; but our 
taste in the choice of abodes, I am sure 
you would allow is a pretty one. The 
island I mention, till we took possession of 
it, was called Priestholm. It is situated 
about three quarters of a mile from the 
Anglesea coast, and commands a most 
noble view of the Great Orme's head, and 
Penman Mawr, with the more distant Welsh 
mountains behind them ; while on one side 
we have Beaumaris, and before us the 
Menai Strait, spanned by the beautiful 
bridge, of which you have doubtless heard. 
Such a place as this is surely well chosen. 
Our ancestors had great faith, I should tell 



16 THE PUFFIN. 

you, in the taste of the monks ; and in 
former times Priestholm island was the 
site of a rehgious house. It was yet more 
remarkable as the chosen burial-place of 
many celebrated Welchmen, who lived, I 
have heard, in very troubled times, and 
when they died, wished to be buried in 
this quiet little island, where they might 
be undisturbed. But in due time the 
monks ceased to inhabit it ; the walls of 
the house mouldered away ; (there is an 
old tower standing yet, however ;) the great 
men no longer desired to be interred at 
Priestholm ; and the puffin people came 
and took possession, and gave it their ow^n 
name. Not that we are the only inhab- 
itants ; there are a few sheep, and a good 
many rabbits, besides ourselves ; and we 
have also the unwelcome company of some 
peregrine falcons, (who are extremely teas- 
ing to us,) and of some cormorants, razor- 
bills, stormy-petrels, divers, guillemots, terns, 
and curlews ; — a great many different races 
against one. However, in despite of them 



THE PUFFIN. 17 

all, we are the sovereigns, and are more 
numerous by far than any of the others. 
Wherever you look, it is all puffin property ; 
the air, the sea, the rocks, are alive with 
us. And if you come when we are sit- 
ting on our nests, you must take heed where 
you set your foot, for I can assure you our 
bite is no joke. We are not easily pro- 
voked but it is not agreeable to be trodden 
upon, and have our eggs crushed. Per- 
haps you will not be at first aware of our 
numbers ; though the humming sound you 
will hear — something like the continual 
turning of large wheels — will apprise you 
of our close neighbourhood ; but the fact 
is, that a good many of us creep pretty 
far into the rabbit-burrows, and lay our 
eggs there ; for we lay hut one. There 
are so many rabbit-holes and crevices 
about the island, that we do not often re- 
quire to make new holes for our nests; but 
if some of us happen to come in late, and 
to find the ground occupied, we are obliged 
to work pretty hard ; — or rather our male 



18 THE PUFFIN. 

birds do so, for they are too polite to let 
the females trouble themselves. They 
scrape a hole in the sand at first, and 
then throwing themselves on their backs, 
both their strong bills and broad feet are 
made use of; with the first they dig into 
the sand, and with the last they push out 
the rubbish : in this way a puffin makes a 
hole for his mate, with a passage which 
winds and turns for eight or ten feet. While 
the male is thus busy, his mate often sits 
by, very composedly admiring the prospect, 
and resting herself after the fatigues of her 
passage to the island ; for of course you 
know it is only our summer residence. 
Such a family as that of the puffins can 
hardly be expecterl to confine themselves 
to one region of the globe, and we must 
bless other shores with our presence in 
winter. In April, however, 

"The murmuring puffins to tneir shelter crowd;" 

just when the landscape loses its winter 
harshness ; when the bold black Orme's 



THE PUFFIN. 19 

Head is relieved by bright patches of green ; 
when the hardy plants, that have found 
room for themselves in the crevices of the 
rocks, are beginning to put forth, now leaves, 
and now flowers ; when the little mountain 
rivulets, too, are dancing and sparkling in 
the sun, and we can trace them in a Hne 
of light from the top to the base of the 
cliff, then is the time for us : and then, 
too, it is a gay, busy time for man. The 
crowded steamboat, with troops of holiday- 
people making merry at Easter, dashes 
past us ; every body is on deck, admiring 
the puffins ; we can hear them compliment 
ing us as they go by ; but we do not suffei 
ourselves to be disturbed : our work must 
proceed, let them say what they please , 
and I assure you some of us have diffi- 
culty in accomplishing it in time. If all 
goes well, we hatch our young in July, 
and depart about the middle or latter end 
of August ; but it will often occur, where 
there is a nest to make, or any accident 
has happened to our egg, that the little 



20 THE PUFFIN. 

ones are not fledged by the time we wa.^t 
to leave the island; in that case we never 
wait for them. Whatever we may feel on 
deserting our offspring, we must obey puf- 
fin-law ; and as soon as the signal is given, 
we assemble together, range ourselves in 
order, and take leave of our summer 
abode. 

Our young, thus left behind, seldom 
escape the dangers which beset them. The 
cunning, clever peregrine falcon knows his 
advantage, and keeps guard at the mouth 
of the hole, till the poor little things come 
out for food, and they have little or no 
chance of escaping the stroke of his pow- 
erful bill and talons. 

As to my size, I believe I may measure 
about twelve inches in length, and may 
weigh about twelve ounces. When full 
grown we are not esteemed as food, hap- 
pily for ourselves, and may therefore escape 
persecution ; but our little ones are some- 
thing of a dainty, and therefore sought after. 
I am told that when killed, the bones are 



THE PUFFIN. 21 

drawn out, and they are pickled for sale, 
being sold for four or five shillings a barrel, 
each barrel containing twelve birds ; — a sad 
end, but we are obliged to bear it as well 
as we can ; and I must whisper in your 
ear, that I do not think the puffins are very 
sentimental birds, though they possess great 
solidity of character. Hence you must not 
expect me to romance about ourselves ; 
but if you are a child of sense you will 
hardly fail to hare a great respect for the 
puffin family. 



THE QUAIL. 

When trav'lling through the wilderness 
Tow'rds Canaan's promised land, 

The Israelites in their distress 
Withstood Jehovah's hand. 

From Horeb's rock the people saw. 

Refreshing streams descend, 
Yet still they scorned God's perfect law. 

Nor knew Him as their friend.* 

They murmur'd loud for want of bread. 
And felt their need supplied ; 

The Quails around the camp were spread 
For miles on either side.f 

Nor this alone : the Manna flow'd 
In stores by heav'n increas'd ; J 

Type of the heav'nly bread bestow'd 
At the Redeemer's feast. § 

♦ Exod. xvii. 6, 7. f Numb. xi. 31, 32. 

X Exod. xvi. 13-16. ^ John vi. 49-69. 







THE QUAIL. 



THE QUAIL. 23 

When of these " feathered fowls " I read. 
The Manna, and the Rock. * 
• I learn that God will surely feed 
The children of His flock. 

And let me meditate with fear, 

When sinful thoughts molest, 
How few who shared His blessings here 

Inherited His rest, t 

• Ps. Ixxviii. 17. 25. 28 : cv. 39, 40. f Heb. iii. 11 : yi 1. 



THE CHIMNEY SWALLOW. 



So ! Good morning, my young friend. I 
am really very sorry to have broken your 
slumbers, by my tumble down the chimney 
this morning. It was the furthest from my 
intentions, I assure you ; but that father of 
mine is such a clumsy fellow ! I heard my 
mother scolding him, only yesterday, and 
telling him he would certainly push me, and 
my brother and sister down the shaft, if he 
did not take care. But he does brandish 
his forked tail about, and flourish at such a 
rate, that there is no getting him to hear 
reason ; — and so here I am. 

Now do not hunt me about the room, as 
if I were a savage thing. Let me sit quietly 



i 



i 




CHIMNEY SWALLOW. 



THE SWALLOW. 25 

on the stove, and recover myself; then, if 
you please, I will tell you all I know about 
myself and friends ; and, after that^ you 
have nothing to do but to set your window 
wide open, and leave the rest to me : — but 
if you call in Betty and Susan, with brooms 
and sticks, I am such a nervous creature 
that I shall never find my way out. 

Perhaps you are surprised to hear me 
talk of flying, when I am but a young nest- 
ling. I have no doubt, however, that I can 
fly, — for several days past my parents have 
shown me the way up the shaft, to the top 
of the chimney ; and there I have flapped 
my wings, and taken a view of the country 
round, and delightful it is. This morning 
my affectionate mother promised herself the 
pleasure of taking us all to a tree at a little 
distance ; and there, I believe we were to 
have remained for a day or two. No doubt 
my fall has made her extremely unhappy ; 
but if you are kind enough to let me go, I 
have little doubt but I can find her in the 



26 THE SWALLOW. 

garden, and it will be very pleasant to give 
her this proof of my strength. 

You *' wonder at our taste in choosing 
chimneys to build in." Why, yes ; it is 
rather a singular fancy i?i a bird ; — but my 
mother tells me that men have no business to 
say anything against us on that account, for 
that they are also very partial to heat and 
smoke, and have cities to live in, (one, called 
London, she told me,) part of which is 
nearly as smoky and dingy as our chimney. 
Besides, we do not build quite in the smoke, 
but only in a shaft near the one which has a 
fire in it ; so that we have the benefit of the 
warmth, but have quite a clear view above 
and below us : — nothing at all to complain 
of, I assure you. 

"Our nest?" It is a very comfortable 
one ; a steady, tight dish of mud and straw, 
lined with fine grasses and feathers. My 
mother says, some other swallows build 
their houses with a dome, leaving only a 
hole for entrance ; but she thinks this would 
be too close and warm in a chimney, so 



THE SWALLOW. 27 

that ours is quite open. She knows best, I 
suppose ; but one day, when we had very 
hard rain, I own I could have wished for a 
dome : the nest was quite full of water, and 
I caught a sad cold, and am a little hoarse 
now. 

Between ourselves, when we are talking 
of situations, I have wondei^ed now and 
then, whether our race have always chosen 
chimney's to build in. My mother cannot 
tell me that. She says it partly depends 
upon the answer to another question, name- 
ly, whether there have always been chim- 
neys ? — and this she does not know. She 
rather supposes not; and if so, she has an 
idea that we had at first the habit of build- 
ing in hollow trees ; but that, when chim- 
neys came in fashion, some of our people 
found them to be very warm, pleasant 
abodes, exactly what they themselves wan- 
ted, and their children have gone on using 
them ever since. 

There are five of us young ones. My 
mother laid six eggs ; but nothing came uf 



28 THE SWALLOW. 

one of them. I saw it, however, and it was 
pretty to look at : white, and dotted with 
httle red specks. 

No ; I am not in full plumage yet. 1 have 
not got my longest tail feathers, nor shall I 
have them this year ; at least not till 1 get 
to my winter-quarters, a long way off; but 
when I come back next spring, if all be 
well, you will see what a beautiful bird I 
shall be. That is, I will not pretend to say 
my colours are handsome ; but I am proud 
to see what wonderful strength and swift- 
ness my people possess. Yesterday, as I 
sat on the top of the chimney, I could not 
admire them enough, cutting the air at such 
a rapid rate, their httle bills going snap, 
snap continually, as they met with a fly, or a 
gnat, in the way. I assure you the martins 
could not fly nearly so fast ; and then my 
father and mother diverted us extremely by 
skimming by turns just over the head of an 
old cat, who sat watching, and fully expect- 
ing one or other of them would fall into her 
mouth, and make her a supper ; — but they 



THE SWALLOW. 29 

knew their own strength and swiftness of 
wing, and merely wished to make a Uttle 
fun with the old lady. I own, however, J 
should not like to see her in this room, and 
hope you will not be so cruel as to call her 
in while I am here. 

I have nearly told you all I know, now ; 
for, being a young bird, I cannot speak of 
any travels of my own ; and my mother is 
so very busy, getting food for us nestlings, 
that she has really no time to tell us stories. 
But one thing I must add, that I am hungry 
this morning. I had not had half my break- 
fast before my father pushed me down here, 
while he was pretending to help me to the 
top of the shaft. It would be a great kind- 
ness to let me go and find my mother, or 
see if I cannot manage to catch a few flies 
for myself. 

There ! — I see you are a good-natured 
creature. Open the window a httle fur- 
ther : — that will do. Bless you ! Good bye! 



THE GREAT TIT, 

A.ND 

LITTLE BLUE TIT. 



Great Tit. We are both of us called 
by the little, short name of tits. One of us, 
however, is larger than the other : — I, the 
biggest, am called the great tit, or ox-eye ; 
and my companion is called the little blue 
tit. Both of us are named by the learned, 
parus ; but I am 'parus major ^ and that little 
thing near me is parus cceruleas. We have 
also six cousins, all owning the family 
name ; but with some other attached to it, 
signifying something different in their make, 
or dwelling-place. For instance, parus pa- 
lustris, or the marsh-tit, lives a good deal 




GRidJA.!' TIT, AIJD LITTLE BLUii TIT. 



I 



LITTLE TIT. 31 

among marshes ; and parus caudatus^ is 
known by its long tail. 

I have at present chiefly in view the 
character of myself and this busy, blue lit- 
tle thing I have brought with me ; not that 
we are particular friends, but she is shy, 
and wishes me to speak for her. 

You will wish to know our sizes and 
colours. I, parus major ^ am five inches and 
a half long, and I weigh an ounce and a 
quarter, good weight. My head and throat 
are glossy black, and I have a band, or 
stripe of black, the whole way from the 
throat to the middle of my belly. My back 
and shoulders are olive green, passing into 
bluish grey on the tail and wings : my breast 
and the under part of my body, except the 
black stripe I have mentioned, are of a sul- 
phur yellow. 

Now look at the little blue tit. Did you 
ever see a prettier bird? No doubt I am 
myself very handsome ; but I cannot quarrel 
with any one for admiring parus cceruleas the 
most. Do but look at her pretty, bright 



32 THE GREAT AND 

azure collar, something like a little round fur 
tippet, her beautiful yellow breast, her pale 
blue wings and tail, just tipped with white ! 
and though she is such a Httle thing, let me 
tell you she has a fine spirit of her own. 
And when she and her mate are sitting in 
turn on their eggs, they have a notion of his- 
sing and puffing, and setting themselves up 
m such a way, if you approach them, that 
you would fancy nothing less in size than a 
goose could be in the tree ; till you peep 
into a very, very small hole, and there sits 
the little blue tit, keeping watch over her six 
or seven eggs. I have no doubt in the 
world, that, were you to venture your finger 
into the hole, she would bite you most 
sharply for your pains ; and, indeed, let me 
tell you, so should I, if you came to my nest. 
I, too, build often in holes of trees ; and, 
if I cannot find one quite hollowed out to 
my mind, n'^importe ! — 1 go to work with my 
little bill, and make it so ; but holes in ruined 
buildings, and the forks of low, young pines, 
or larch-trees, will do : and my nest is 



^ LTTTLE TIT. 33 

much admired for its neat make. It is very 
deep, and well covered, quite waterproof, 
and very well lined with hair and feathers. 
I like large families, and should be sadly 
dissatisfied if I had fewer than eight eggs 
to set upon ; and sometimes I have ten or 
twelve — -all the better ; — though, I can as- 
sure you, the little things, when they are 
hatched, lead their parents a hard life ; 
and we have generally two broods every 
summer. 

Our chicks are blind for the first few 
days after they are hatched ; but always 
ready to eat, and my mate and I have 
enough to do to find them insects : still we 
manage pretty well. They grow fast, and 
in two or three weeks they are able to fly : 
but we are a very affectionate family, and 
in general keep together for at least six 
weeks. I am very proud to tell you, also, 
that, tits as we are, we resemble the eagle, 
in the fidelity of our attachments. Most 
birds, I find, choose a new mate every 
spring ; but as for us, we are content with 



34 THE GREAT AND 

one and the same all our lives long ; ex- 
cept, indeed, one of us dies, and then the 
survivor is easily suited again. The same 
nest too, if we are not disturbed in it, will 
serve us for many a summer. 

But you will want to hear more of parus 
eceruleas ; and I have talked a long time of 
myself only. However, in most of the 
above particulars we are much alike, — only 
that the number of eggs in a blue tit's nest 
is seldom more than eight or ten. Mine 
are yellowish white, mottled with rust- 
colour ; and theirs are white also, with rust- 
coloured specks at the thick end. 

You will expect to hear some confessions 
about our garden robberies. Now, for my 
own part, I plead guilty to bees and peas. 
I certainly do sometimes stand near the 
bee-hives, and hawk for the bees as they 
come out, and also snap at them as they 
are busied in the flowers : and as for a pod 
of marrows-fats, I do know how to shell 
them beautifully ; — and delicious they are. 
By the bye, I should advise gardeners never 



LITTLE TIT. 35 

to SOW what are called grey pease. Let 
them sow the blue ; they are much the 
sweetest, and will do them the most credit; 
and there is a sort, called Knight's garden 
peas, which I know are extremely juicy and 
tender, — easily shelled, too. Some persons 
may censure me for the thefts above owned ; 
but what am I to do with my large family? 
They must live. And then I can promise 
you, that every young tit I rear, and now 
and then regale with a pea, will do your 
garden far more good than harm. 

No hunters like us, for insects in the bark 
and the bud, and under the leaves of your 
trees : the very nail-holes in your walls, the 
haunt of the spider, do not escape us. We 
draw out the grub of the cabbage-butterfly 
from the chinks in the barn : we bring out 
larvag from under the slits of the bark of 
trees with our tongues. We run up the 
trunk, we dip and dive underneath the 
branches, we are here and there and every- 
where, worming out the little insect which 
you cannot see ; but which, if it were allow- 



36 THE GREAT AND LITTLE TIT. 

ed to live, would spoil half your summer 
verdure. I would not take away from the 
merit of many of the birds of passage, 
which are also very useful in clearing your 
trees of hurtful insects ; but pray bear in 
mind, that they leave the fields for half the 
year ; and that, from autumn to spring, 
we, the tits, are the chief guardians of your 
woods. 

While our summer warblers are enjoying 
themselves, nobody knows where, moths lay 
their eggs in the infant buds ; and if it were 
not for us, shoot and blossom would both be 
gone before they return. The eggs would 
be hatched ; the young worm would have 
come forth, and then, alas, for the pleasant 
green shade ! But that is our province : 
we watch the buds from autumn to spring ; 
and, though nobody may thank us, we know 
very well how much of the beauty of sum- 
mer is our work. Long Ufe to the tits ! 







LOIJG-TATLKD U'll". 



THE LONG-TAILED TIT. 



Somebody tells me, that a conceited cousin 
of mine, the great tit, or parus major, has 
taken upon him to be the biographer of our 
tribe. He has a very good right to speak 
for himself; and, if he chooses, to speak 
for his cousin, the blue tit; but I intend to 
have a page to myself. I do not choose to 
be confounded with the tits of all shapes 
and sizes. / that have a tail three inches 
long ; and carry the feathers on my head 
half erect, like a crest ! Besides, I have 
no blue or yellow about me ; but rather 
incline to a pale rose-red on the sides of 
my back, and under my body, and have 
a nice white breast, passing into pale ash- 



38 THE LONG-TATLED TIT. 

grey. But I know that my habits are not 
such as make men very famihar with me. 
While other birds are flying from one field 
to another, I am beating about a bush or 
tree all day long for insects. 

The boys, however, know me, and call 
me Long Tom, Poke-pudding, and Bottle 
Tit ; and I am a. curiosity, for my three- 
inch tail is set upon a little body only two 
and a half inches long ; and I jerk about 
firom bough to bough in a manner which 
is thought very amusing. Then my mate 
and I always contrive to keep our family 
about us, from hatching-time till the follow- 
ing spring ; and as we have sometimes 
fourteen long tails whisking about round 
us, I leave you to judge if we do not cut 
a very respectable figure. 

As for my nest, I really cannot condescend 
to ask for your admiration of it. I could 
quote book upon book to prove to you that, 
in the opinion of the learned, it is really 
" one of the most extraordinary of animal 
structures." 



I 



THE LONG-TAILED TIT. 39 

Here is a picture which will enable you 
to form some idea of the matter. 




you see it is shaped like a bag; but as 
to the materials that go to the making, trust 
me, I should find it hard to number them. 
There is moss, there are lichens, there are 
caterpillars' webs, and woolly particles, and 
tough threads and feathers, oh ! such a 
profusion of feathers, for the inner part. 
As nothing can be neater and firmer than 
my work when done, you must not won- 
der that it takes me and my mate at least 
a month to make our nest. We sometimes 
have two holes for entrances ; and as both 
my mate and I like to be within at night, 
there is room for his head to peep out of 



40 THE LONG-TAILED TIT. 

one hole, and my tail at the other ; but this 
is not our usual plan, — only a very superior 
pants will sometimes contrive it thus. 

Eight, ten, twelve, or even fifteen little 
eggs, not much bigger than pease, are to 
be sometimes found buried in the soft down; 
and when our young are hatched, we are 
very happy ; but we are obliged to leave 
the nest as they grow bigger. Yet still, 
as I told you, we do not part, and as the 
weather grows cold towards autumn, we 
roost for the night, all huddled together, 
on the same twig. 

For the rest, I fancy my cousin parus 
major may have told you the chief of what 
I should have said. I am more shy than 
he is, and more rarely approach human 
dwellings and gardens. Indeed my food 
is almost wholly insects ; and no gardener 
can lay any crime to my charge. 

Like the rest of my tribe, I suffer se- 
verely in very hard winters. With all I 
can do, I cannot always keep myself warm ; 
and sometimes you will find us frozen to 



I 



THE LONG-TAILED TIT. 41 

death on our roosting-places. Still, some 
are always left : and we take care to keep 
in the warmest parts of the country, where 
the ground is moist and rich, and the 
foliage closely interwoven. There you will 
chiefly find us ; and whenever you come 
among us, I shall be happy to show you 
how nimbly I can climb a tree. 

F 



THE GOLDEN EAGLE. 



** Oft did the cliffs reverberate the sound 
Of parted fragments tumbling from on high; 

And from the summit of that craggy mound 
The perching eagle oft was heard to cry, 

Or on resounding winds to shoot athwart the sky." 

beattie's minstrel. 

Must I come too ? Must even the proud 
golden eagle stoop down from his eyrie on 
the ledge of the steep sea-chfF, and submit 
to be questioned by a child ? You have 
been looking towards me, I know, good part 
of the day. I have seen your curious eye 
vainly trying to spy out my ways and my 
doings ; but the sun blinded you, and the 
distance was too much for you ; and though 
I have had you before me the whole time, 
you have scarcely been able to say you 




GOLDJfJN EAGLii]. 



THE GOLDEN EAGLE. 43 

have seen me yet. Yes, I will come down ; 
for what harm can you do me, poor httle 
child ; and why should not you learn what 
you desire? But the rushing of my wings, if 
I were to descend with all my force near you, 
would be a startUng thing, and you shall first 
see me sail in my majesty over the valley. 

There ! Am not I indeed a noble crea- 
ture ? How I ride in the high air, glorying 
in my might! I am not thinking of my 
prey now : I am only sailing idly along for 
your amusement and my own, enjoying the 
calm sky, and this bright sun, and caring 
nothing for what is doing upon earth. 

Must you see me in my terrible hour, 
when I have marked out some poor animal 
for my own, as I pass near two thousand 
feet above it ? You shall, then ; — but you 
must have a quick eye, and not a cowardly 
heart : and you must remember, that though 
I cannot live without slaughter, I am a very 
merciful destroyer. One stroke of my pow- 
erful talons is often enough to end the suf- 
ferings of the animal I would kill. Do vou 



44 THE GOLDEN EAGLE. 

see yonder hare, gliding along from one 
covert to another ? I shall have him : but 
I must mount higher. Down, down ! — a 
moment, and it is over; and here I am 
again, bearing off the prey to my eaglets. 
I will soon return and tell you more. 

I cannot invite you to my eyrie. It is 
much too high for you to climb to : and, 
could you reach it, the footing is slippery, 
and the river runs dark and deep under- 
neath. Sharp points of rock jut out on 
every side, to keep off intruders. 

To you it would seem a forlorn and 
cheerless house. To me it is a happy, 
ancient home. It is merely a platform, on 
yonder rock. Large sticks, disposed in 
rows, plank our floor; and turf and rushes 
are our carpet. If the rock projects over 
our heads, making a sort of cave for us, 
we do not object to shelter ; but we do 
not seek it, — for few can bear cold and 
storms like us. 

What are you gazing at above my head ? 
My mate, I should judge, by the sound in 



THE GOLDEN EAGLE. 45 

the air ; but though I could see her, and 
could see you, little boy, ever so far helow 
me, if you are above me, but for a little 
distance, you are safe from my eye. 

This projecting curtain, this eye-brow, 
that has been given me, is a shade that 
both protects my eye from the sun, and 
guards my prey from my attacks. For 
when I have slain a bird or an animal, I 
must rise again from the ground ready for 
a stoop, before I can strike another. 

I know you wish to hear more. There 
is something in your eye which seems to 
say, "I want to read in nature's great book. 
I am not come here to capture or destroy. 
I am come with a heart loving God's glo- 
rious works, and longing to know them more 
and better every day. Tell me, for you can, 
great bird, what is your history, that I may 
sometimes think of the solemn eagle on his 
rugged cliff, and contrast him with the 
playful little tit at my own door." 

I was born in an eyrie far from this wild 
mountain ; but the nest itself was like this 



46 



THE GOLDEN EAGLE. 



one in which I rear my own young, only 
the sea was nearer to us there, than it is 
here : and, in a winter's night, the sound 
of the roaring waters dashing under us, 
made the place more grand. 

My father and mother were a noble pair. 
I have seen other eagles since ; but never 
a bird, I think, so large as my mother. 
From the tip of one wing to the other she 
measured upwards of ten feet ; and was 
three feet and a half long. My father 
was smaller; but both of them were re- 
markable for the size and strength of their 
legs and claws : — and really the claw of a 
golden eagle is worth examining. 







THE GOLDEN EAGLE. 47 

I cannot tell how many years my parents 
had lived in this nest before I came into the 
world — perhaps fifty or sixty. I know that 
many pairs of birds have been sent forth 
by them to find dwellings for themselves 
where they could : and that this was the 
reason why my mate and I were obhged 
to come so far from home before we could 
meet with a quiet mountain, all to ourselves. 
There were three eggs in the nest at the 
time my mate and I were hatched ; but one 
of them, I believe rolled out of the nest, 
and only us two came perfect out of our 
shells. At first our bodies were covered 
with a yellowish down : after that, feathers 
began to grow ; but it was three or four 
years before our plumage resembled in 
colour and strength that of our parents. 

Now^ I may say, I am the very image 
of my mother. The same rich browns with 
their coppery lustre ; the same free, pow- 
erful command of every part. Ah ! believe 
me, boy, you have done right to come here 
to see me. 



48 THE GOLDEN EAGLE. 

If you ever visit a menagerie, and they 
point out a dull, lifeless, stupid bird, sulking 
in its cage, and tell you that is the golden 
eagle, you will know better; you can tell 
them, that though it might once have been 
so, and though it is still alive, it is not like 
what you have seen among the mountains. 
It wants the vild blast to temper its feath- 
ers, the thought of its home and young to 
enliven its eyes, the sight of its prey to bring 
out its terrible attributes. 

My mate and I were nursed in our pa- 
rents' nest for a whole summer, during all 
which time nothing could exceed the kind- 
ness of our father and mother. At first my 
mother kept chiefly within, and my father 
went abroad for food for her and us : but as 
we grew bigger and stronger he enticed my 
mother abroad, for he did not like his lonely 
flights, and wished her to be his companion 
whenever she could : sometimes he remain- 
ed at home, and she went alone, as I have 
now left my mate to come and talk with 
you. 



THE GOLDEN EAGLE. 49 

We did not mind being left ; nothing could 
harm us in the nest, and we never dreamed 
of any ill happening to our parents ; but it 
was a pleasant moment when we heard the 
rush of their wings at a distance, and then 
the gentle sweep before they landed. What 
a broad shadow they spread betwixt us, 
and the" sun ! 

My mother had some fears, lest, in her 
absence, we should ever venture too near 
the edge of the nest, and fall down the 
precipice. We were much too cowardly for 
that. Indeed, by what I have seen in my 
own young, and what I remember of my- 
self, I should say the young eagle is slow 
in acquiring courage. 

We were well fed all this time. Poul- 
try, game, rabbits and young lambs were 
brought in abundance to us ; and sometimes 
our larder was even overstocked. Fortu- 
nately we were too far beyond the reach of 
man to be approached, or else I must say 
there were strong temptations in our plenti- 
ful provision. So time passed ; and summer 



50 THE GOLDEN EAGLE. 

went away, and autumn brought shortened 
days, and an occasional chilly blast, which 
our parents well knew how to interpret. 
They cast altered looks upon us, and we 
heard them whispering together, and agree- 
ing that it was high time to drive us away, 
lest the winter should come suddenly upon 
them, and they should be obliged in that 
season of scarcity to provide for us, as well 
as for themselves. A day or two after this, 
we found the matter was settled ; that we 
were no longer to lie still in our quiet nest, 
but to be pushed out willing or unwilling, 
and launched upon the wide space beneath 
us. Trust me, though many, man}^ years 
have passed, I have not forgotten that day : 
and, though we learned ere long to rejoice 
in our independence, it was a terrible mo- 
ment, when we found our kind parents' 
hearts turned against us, and felt their 
powerful talons put forth to drag us from 
the nest. 

I know all that passed up to the moment 
when I was about to be pushed from my 



THE GULDEN EAGLE. 51 

clinging hold on the rock. After that, ter- 
ror took away all my faculties ; and I can 
only tell you that in a few moments I found 
myself, to my surprise, resting upon my 
mother's back in the air. Though she had 
forced me forward, she had not deserted 
me. Swift as lightning she had darted 
under me, and now bore me upon her 
wings. What a joy it was to find her near ! 
and how ashamed I felt at the thought that 
a doubt of her love and care had ever 
come over me! 

My courage revived as I felt the fresh 
air, and saw how nobly my mother rode 
through the vast expanse. Then again she 
slipped from beneath me ; and this time I 
stretched my wings, and found them far 
more powerful than I expected. 

Ere the day was over, my young mate 
and I had felt all the enjoyment of our 
powers, and caught much of our parents' 
spirit. Our eye, indeed wanted practice ; 
we could not see so promptly, or direct our 
flight towards our prey in so unerring a 



52 THE GOLDEN EAGLE. 

manner as afterwards. But this our pa- 
rents knew would soon come ; and when 
they were satisfied of our abihty to provide 
for ourselves, they soared back to their de- 
serted nest, leaving us, as we well under- 
stood, to choose our abode as we best might. 

It was not long before we came here. 
On our way we touched at many promis- 
ing spots ; but they were all occupied. 
Every beetling crag had its pair of eagles, 
and none were disposed to yield possession 
to a young couple like ourselves ; so that 
we saw it was necessary to go further from 
home. Here then, we came, and here we 
have reared many a brood, and lived for 
very many summers. How many would 
you suppose? More, probably, than you 
will ever number. A hundred years have 
seen us lords of this mountain ; and even 
now, you find, I am not dull of sight, nor 
heavy of wing. 

Perhaps you may think Hfe must have 
been very dull, thus spent in one spot and 
with one single companion. I have heard 



THE GOLDEN EAGLE. 53 

such a remark from gay birds of passage, 
who change their country and their mates 
every season ; and when we are saihng 
soberly along towards home, the young 
things have sometimes the impudence to 
twit us, and we catch the sound of " Grey- 
beards," and " Hum-drums." You will not 
suppose we condescend to answer them, 
save by an occasional brush of our wings, 
which frightens them and sends them flying 
away in all directions ; but we^ mean time 
move on to our dear home ; and when we 
are there, we look around, and slip into our 
nest, well content with our lot. 

I have one anxiety, certainly, in my 
heart— but one, — and my mate, good fel- 
low ! has the same. We have lived so long 
together, that we think our time must be 
drawing near to a close ; and we should 
not mind this, if we could be quite sure of 
dying together. But if one goes first, we 
do not know how to bear the thought of 
the lonely thing that will be left behind. 

Sometimes, when we are in a melancholy 



54 THE GOLDEN EAGLE. 

mood, we talk it all ov^er, and fancy one or 
other of us, pining away in the nest after 
the other is gone. But we think it cannot 
last long ; that, as we were hatched in the 
same day, so very likely we may depart. 
Therefore, my good, simple-hearted child, 
if when you are grown to be a man, you 
should come this way, and look up at the 
eagle-rock, do not be sorry if you see no 
traces at all of us, but tell every body that 
we were a happy, faithful, affectionate pair 
of birds ; that we loved each other always 
— yes always, — and never had a quarrel : 
and, when you see fathers and mothers 
captious and unkind to one another, send 
them to this valley, and bid them look up 
to our nest and be ashamed. 



1 







THK b.^GLii. 



THE EAGLE. 



There is not any living thing 
Throughout this wondrous frame 

That doth not praise our God, and bring 
Fresh honour to His name.* 

Though wicked men refuse to give 

The glory that's His due, 
Still as they think, and speak, and live 

They pay this tribute too. 

Behold the fowls that cleave the air; 

They neither sow nor reap ; 
God feeds them with His tender care ; 

His love doth never sleep. f 

And they, with pow'r by Him impress'd, 

The parent's office try ; 
With hov'ring wing defend the nest. 

And teach their young to fly. 

• Psalm cxlv. 10. f Matt. vi. 26. 



56 THE EAGLE. 

Yon Eagle, scouring o'er the field, 
Will find sufficient food 

For nature's wants, and plenty yield 
To all her callow brood. 

So, while we labour * let us learn, 
By His benign command. 

To trust in GoD,t and still discern 
A Father's guiding hand. 

♦ Thess. iii. 10. f Psalm xxxvii. 3. 




fish-hawk:, or ObPHJtY 



THE FISH-HAWK, or OSPREY. 

You are come into our country, I under- 
stand, to make yourself acquainted with the 
birds of the mountain and morass. I saw 
you just now discoursing with the golden 
eagle ; and he has a good right to receive 
you as his own special guest, for certainly 
he is a king here ; but now he has finished 
his tale, it is time that others should come 
forward ; and I am sure all will allow my 
claims to be heard, next to his. 

In some respects, I stand quite alone. 
There is but one falco halcditus ; and I am 
the same bird here and in America. There 
is a singular mixture of the eagle, and 
falcon, and buzzard in us, together with 



58 THE FISH-HAWK. 

particular properties of our own. We come 
near the eagle in size, we resemble the hawk 
in our beaks and wings, and our flight is 
sometimes like that of a buzzard. 

We are really very noble birds. Our 
powerful beaks are hooked, and so im- 
mensely hard and strong! Our claws, 
also, short and strong, are fitted for our 
own work, which is grasping fish in the 
water, and lifting them out of it. 

As you saw the eagle's claw, suppose 
you look at mi7ie also. 



1 




Our outer toes, as here described, are 
turned forwards as well as the inner ones; 
but, when we require it, we can turn the 
former backwards, and this gives us a great 
deal of power over our slippery prey. 



THE FISH-HAWK. 59 

You are not acquainted, perhaps, with 
many birds who, hke me, plunge from a 
height in the air into the sea. A great 
many of them, like myself, watch for their 
prey in the air, and then dart down into 
the waves upon it; but they mostly come 
head foremost, and catch the fish with their 
beaks ; while I seldom or never have my 
head under water, but seize my prey with 
my talons. 

The solan-goose, or gannet, and the cor- 
morant are fitted for their way of life. 
Their feet are webbed, and could do them 
no good in catching their prey ; and there- 
fore they are so made that they can plunge, 
and rise lightly to the surface, like bal- 
loons, bringing up fish in their beaks. 

Though I fish in rivers or lakes, yet, in 
order to view me to the most advantage, 
you should be near the sea. And, though 
you may have considered the eagle's vision 
and descent on her prey very wonderful, I 
think you will allow mine to be even more so. 
There, in the high air, — sometimes two hun- 



60 THE FISH-HAWK. 

dred feet, sometimes more, above the sea,— 
I may be noted, now wheeling gracefully 
along, to watch for any tokens of fish ; now 
hovering over one particular spot, my wings 
fluttering rapidly, in order to be ready at 
the very moment when I see it right to 
descend : then down I come, like a thunder- 
bolt! I am in the ocean : the waters are 
roaring round me ; but the fish is mine, and 
after a few moment's struggle, you will see 
me rise from the waves, shake the water 
from my body as a spaniel might do, and 
slowly and steadily wing my way for the 
land. 

I can carry off very large prey, some- 
times a flounder or a shad weighing several 
pounds ; but it has happened to me, once 
or twice in my life, to have had rather a 
hard battle with a larger and stronger fish 
than I expected ; and once I was suddenly 
dragged under water, and nearly drowned 
by one of them. 

My nest is situated conveniently for my- 
self and my young : if I fish in a fresh- 



THE FISH-HAWK. 61 

water lake, it is in reeds or on a jutting 
rock ; or, if there be trees in the place, I 
build on trees. 

In America my race are held in particular 
honour. I do not, I own, quite understand 
the grounds of this partiality ; but certain it 
is that there it is reckoned a fortunate thing 
when an osprey makes her nest on a farm. 
We make very large structures, piling up 
great sticks, four or five feet high and two 
or three broad ; and then placing upon them 
large pieces of wet turf, corn stalks, and 
dried grass, quite a heavy mass, such as 
may be seen a good way off. The eggs 
are three or four in number; never more 
than this. 

You have heard from the eagle of the 
misery he suffered when first expelled from 
the nest : I can say that it is quite as diffi- 
cult to chase away our own young folks; 
and we are obliged to take harsh measures 
for the purpose : but our affection for our 
offspring, while in their most helpless state, 
is quite a pattern. 



62 THE FISH-HAWK. 

It is a dangerous thing to attack an 
osprey's nest : and he who wishes to take 
a peep at my eggs and young, will hardly 
escape a buffet on the head, if his eyes 
be not attacked and severely wounded. 

From one provoking enemy we, in Eng- 
land are free ; but our hapless brethren in 
America suffer severely from the scandalous 
robberies committed- on them by the bald 
eagle. Would you believe it ? this great, 
mean savage allows the osprey to descend 
into the waves to catch his fish, and, watch- 
ing him all the while, the moment he is 
ready to bear his prey to the land, gives 
him chase. The poor osprey well knows 
he cannot escape, so that just as the eagle 
reaches him, he drops the fish. Down goes 
the plunderer after the plunder, which he 
generally seizes before it falls into the water, 
and carries it off to regale himself at his 
leisure. This detestable bird, however, is 
sometimes attacked in return by several 
fish-hawks, but they can seldom do him any 
harm ; and by all accounts he is the tyrant 



THE FISH-HAWK. 63 

of the air. I am glad for my part that I 
have nothing to do with him. 

With the golden eagle I have no quar- 
rels. Our food is different, and he never, 
I have heard, eats anything that he has not 
killed himself. 

I dare say the eagle made you look grave 
by his discourse. He is such a solemn, 
majestic bird, and makes one feel, I know 
not why, so much in awe of him. For my- 
self I pretend to no romance whatever, — 
being a very plain, honest, industrious fish- 
er : — and you have had my story, and I 
shall bid you farewell. 



THE ROOK. 



Caw, caw ! the work goes on cheerily, 
cheerily ! look at our wicker castles, swing- 
ing among your tall trees. The fresh March 
wind is a merry blast to us ; and we like 
to sing to it as it blows : — Caw^ caw ! What 
a wonderful city will this be of ours ! Aye, 
no wonder you like to look up at it. Scores 
on scores of houses are we building among 
those trees ; and there are the workmen 
scurrying hither and thither, and here I sit 
to watch them, and give notice if any harm 
approaches : but I know yoit^ my child, 
very well, and shall hold my tongue when 
you come, that you may see as much of 
our doings as possible. 

You cannot peep into one of our nests , 







THE HC02. 



THE ROOK. 65 

they are much too high for that ; but I can 
tell you how they are made. We gather 
brittle, dead sticks, and lay them cross and 
cross in the forks of the trees ; we also pick 
up birch twigs, and branches of blackthorn, 
and weave into them long fibrous roots, 
which make a very neat inner basket. 

As to those coarse mattresses of wool 
and rabbits' fur laid over clumsy walls of 
clay, those we leave to the crows ; but we, 
the rooks, take more pains with our work, 
and make a much prettier nest. 

Ah ! I see you are eyeing that pair of 
younkers. Silly things ! every body may 
see they have pitched upon a bough that 
will not bear their nest. Never mind ! we 
always let our young people find out these 
mistakes for themselves ; they will only be 
obliged to do their work over again, and to 
stay on the trees when all of us are gone : 
they will know better another year. 

There is a great bustle, you will observe, 
about yonder tree. I will tell you how it 
is. We are a people living under very 



66 



THE ROOK. 



Strict laws ; and none of us are allowed to 
follow our own fancies as to where we shall 
build, unless, indeed, we entirely separate 
ourselves from our colony. Now there is, 
on that tree, a single pair of rooks which 
has ventured to build thus alone and away 
from the rest, — all the time pretending to 
belong to us, and we have decided that the 
thing shall not be. A pretty scolding they 
have got ; and there are our people pulling 
the nest all to pieces. Do but see how the 
truants slink back to our trees, and how 
cowed and foolish they look. Now they 
have all their work to do over again ; and 
will be taunted and twitted at all the sum- 
mer into the bargain. 

Let me point your attention to what is 
going on in the next tree. While a body of 
our citizens are executing judgment upon 
the truant pair, there is a sly couple stealing 
a stick out of each of their nests to add to 
their own. Upon my word, they will be 
pretty sure to be found out, if they go on at 
this rate. They have almost finished their 



THE ROOK. 67 

nest already; and the other birds will find 
the difference in theirs. They will keep 
their counsel, however, for the present ; but 
by and by, if you should come among us 
when the eggs a.re laid, you will see what 
happens. We shall all fall, to a rook, upon 
the pilferers, pull their nest to pieces, and 
throw their eggs on the ground. 

Surely you are not disturbed by the caw- 
ing overhead. That is only our common 
talk, and goes on the whole time we are 
nesting. A great deal of it, perhaps, indeed 
the greater part, proceeds from our motherly 
rooks, who are some of them now sitting 
on their eggs. They seldom go out; and 
one would think they love to hear them- 
selves talk, for they often caw incessantly 
while their mates are away : especially if it 
so happens that the male is longer than 
usual bringing his mate her meals, she be- 
comes very impatient, and frets and com- 
plains loud enough for the whole town to 
know it. When he does come at last, she 
has another little, short, eager cry, as he 



68 



THE ROOK. 



glides towards the nest to give her what- 
ever he has procured ; and when her hun- 
ger is a httle appeased, she makes it up to 
him by singing him a song, which is longer 
or shorter according as the good soul is 
pleased with her morsel or not. He sits 
and rests and listens to her, and then off he 
goes on the same errand again. In general, 
also, there is a brief dialogue between them. 
He tells her the news, and she tells him 
how glad she shall be when this tiresome 
sitting on eggs is over. 

Do you see those small birds that seem 
so fond of our company, and so curious 
after our proceedings? They ai'e star- 
lings : good-natured little things as can pos- 
sibly be ; somewhat prying and busy, but 
so very diverting and full of play, that we 
let them come and go as they please. I 
believe most of them have nests close to 
the fen yonder: they like places where 
reeds abound, and if you should go there^ 
and come rather suddenly upon them, they 
would rush from their coverts with noise 



THE ROOK. 69 

enough to startle you. Two or three pair 
of them, I do beheve, mean to make their 
nests on the stunted willow just behind you, 
that they may be near us ; and we do not 
intend to interfere with them. On the con- 
trary, they are rather pets of ours ; and 
when we ahght in large open fields, we are 
often attended by a bevy of them ; nor do 
we grudge them a little of our favourite 
food. We are only sorry to see how fool- 
ishly they court danger in winter : they are 
so fond of company that if one alights to 
pick up a worm, all the rest will follow too ; 
and then they are an easy mark for any 
one who chooses to let off a gun at them. 
And really we, who have great opportu- 
nities of watching them, and knowing what 
good sort of birds they are, have reason to 
be concerned at their misfortunes. They 
are the kindest parents : I have known 
them bring food to their young more than 
a hundred and forty times in the course 
of a day, when, perhaps, they had some 
distance to go in order to seek it. 



70 THE ROOK. 

I cannot help speaking a good word for 
these sociable creatures ; but do not fancy- 
that we admit all our kindred to very close 
fellowship. We do occasionally exchange 
a civil greeting with the carrion crow. In 
a winter's evening, just before we go to 
roost, we sometimes meet with him ; and 
then he looks up, and gives us a hoarse 
good evening, and perhaps has a word or 
two to say about the weather, to which 
we answer in our own melodious way. 
We do not want to quarrel with him ; but 
as to intimacy, we always decline it. Our 
tastes and habits do not accord. It would 
distress us exceedingly to be suspected of 
wounding the eyes of weak animals, or of 
eating any chance carrion that may lie in our 
way. Nor did we ever in our lives attack 
poultry, or suck eggs. Therefore when, 
on one occasion, a pair of crows thought 
proper to select one of our trees to build in, 
we deserted it immediately ; nor was there 
a rook among us that would go near that 
tree so long as the strangers chose to remain. 



THE ROOK. 71 

Neither do we at all like the hooded crow, 
which, between ourselves, is quite as un- 
clean a bird as the other ; but as it comes 
only for part of the year, from October to 
April, and never builds its nest in England, 
we have not so much to do with it. It 
goes northward, I am told, in the spring; 
and makes its nest in rocks or tall trees, 
much like the carrion crow. A croaking, 
disagreeable voice it has. I believe it is 
about an inch longer and an inch broader 
than we are, and heavier by about three 
ounces ; and there is a mixture of dull grey 
in the feathers. 

Do not let me forget the jackdaws ; we 
tolerate the starlings, but we have really a 
friendship for the daws. We can see with 
great pleasure a flock of the former feeding 
together in the same field with ourselves ; 
but we do not mix with them : the latter are 
welcome to share and share alike with us. 
Indeed we should be very sorry in winter 
not to meet pretty often. 

About three miles off, there is a place 



72 THE ROOK. 

much frequented by jackdaws, and we have 
occassion to pass this frequently as we go 
for food in a morning. The daws are rather 
lazy, and we never find them stirring before 
us ; but as soon as our well-known caw is 
heard, up they all spring, and there is such 
a chattering and welcoming ! They often 
go with us for the day ; and in the evening, 
as we return, they escort us back a little 
way past their own homes, and then bid us 
farewell for the night ; or if one of them 
recollects something that should have been 
said, he will come flying after us, deliver 
his message, and then return. 

This is a pleasant circumstance in our 
lives, I assure you : and, though the daws 
are much smaller than we are, there is a 
strong family resemblance, in disposition as 
well as person ; and yet we never choose 
to build our nests in the same places. 1 
wish, poor things, they would take to trees, 
for they are greatly interfered with in the 
crannies and holes they so much prefer. 

I ought to have told you about our eggs ; 



THE ROOK. 73 

for you cannot, I know, see them here. They 
are of a pretty blue-green colour, mottled 
with dark-coloured spots, or blotches ; and 
our females lay from three to five of them 
for a brood. 

When the young are hatched, and old 
enough to be left, both father and mother 
assist in bringing them food ; and, greedy 
as they are, there is often some difficulty in 
finding them enough. If the spring and 
summer be very hot and dry, the grubs and 
worms are hidden far under the ground, and 
our poor parent birds may be seen wander- 
ing about, hunting for grasshoppers and any 
thing they can get. We generally find a 
good breakfast of dew-worms, as we are 
very early risers ; but even these fail us in 
seasons when the mornings are nearly with- 
out dew, and then there is grief indeed in 
our city. If you were to come among us 
then, your heart would be melted by the 
cries of our young for food ; and I could 
tell you tales of the labours and sacrifices 
of our old birds which would surprise you. 



74 



THE ROOK. 



If you hear a neighbour complain at such 
a time of robberies in his newly-set potatoe- 
fields, do say a word in our excuse ! When 
we can find other food, we care little for 
potatoes ; but hunger and misery force us 
to attack them at times. 

Suppose, however, all goes on well. Our 
young will soon be taught to fly ; and then 
we shall take our leave of the rookery for 
the summer months. In autumn, however, 
you will find us here again for a little time. 

We are very sociable, as you observe, and 
have great pleasure in telling one another 
about what we have seen in our summer 
excursions. Some of us put our nests in 
order against the spring ; but it does not 
often happen that these last through the 
winter storms, though we can work them 
up again with much less trouble than at first. 

Before we part, let me tell you one or two 
things which will prove that there is a kind- 
ness of heart among rooks. It does happen 
sometimes that a mother rook is killed be- 
fore her young are reared. Do you think 



THE ROOK. 75 

we let the poor orphans perish ? Oh, no ; 
no such cruelty was ever heard of in our 
cities : we do spare time, however busy we 
may be, from our own families, to attend to 
the deserted ones ; and not a nest in the 
whole rookery will be better provided for 
than this. 

Another thing ; when one of our company 
is wounded by some cruel sportsman, we 
do not desert him, as too many birds would. 
We have even been known to brave the 
danger of being shot by the same gun, in 
order, if possible, to help him. We fly 
round and round, hop before him, and do 
all we can to make him follow us. 

But enough has surely been said to show 
you that we are a respectable, industri- 
ous, kind, sociable, well-regulated people. 
We hope you will give us this character 
wherever you go; and do not oblige us to 
say that you have come among us in vain, 
and are as idle, as cross, and unneighbourly 
as if you had never been acquainted with 
rooks. 



THE WILLOW WREN 

I TOO am called a wren ; but have also 
several other very pretty names, not one of 
which I can pronounce properly ; but you 
may, gentle youth, so you shall have them 
all, every one, vulgar and learned. 

In the common tongue, then, which is 
spoken by English boys and girls, I am 
Willow wren, Yellow wren. Hay bird, and 
Bee bird. In the Latin, I am alternately 
Silvia trochilus, cucculis trochilus^ and trochilus 
asilus. It is a sad thing that the learned, at 
least, cannot agree a little better. I should 
like, for instance, to be known all over the 
world as silvia trochilus. Why should I 
not? ''Silvia!'^' there is something soft 











WII.LOW-\VHii;N. 



THE WILLOW WREN. 77 

and gentle and pastoral in the very sound. 
It is music in itself; and I flatter myself it 
expresses my character very well. But 
cuccttUs ! who ever heard of such a name 
for a pretty songster? it can hardly be 
uttered without choaking. 

Do then, my kind friend, lend your aid. 
Call me, and write me down, silvia trochilus. 
It may seem of httle importance ; for a 
name, some may say, is nothing. I cannot 
agree with them, for a name is a key, and 
sometimes the only one, that will unlock 
what we wish to lay open and examine. 

You may have seen me, I am a little 
more than five inches long. My back of a 
yellowish green ; the under part of my 
body white ; my breast and part of my 
wings and tail-feathers a pale, whitish yel- 
low ; and there is a dull streak over my 
eye, which distinguishes me from my cou- 
sin the wood wren, in whom it is bright 
yellow. 

You may have seen my nest. An old 
strawberry-bed is rather a favourite site 



78 THE WILLOW WREN. 

with me. Periwinkles, too, are very suitable 
plants, for me to make my dwelling in. 

But I do not dislike a bank, or the root 
of a tree, or bush ; and as to the structure 
of my nest, I am not so closely tied down 
in my materials as some birds. Sometimes 
I raise a frame work of dried grass ; indeed 
this is my most common plan ; but I have 
been known to use little fibrous roots 
instead ; and if the gardener has left any 
nice strips of bass-mat in my way, I can 
plait them together with dry leaves so 
firmly that you may roll it along like a 
ball on the ground without spoiling it, which 
is not the case with my grassy nests. Some- 
times I mix with the hay bits of moss, and 
slips of bark; but you may depend upon 
me for having a good feather-bed. I make 
no point of having always the same outer 
walls ; but plenty of feathers within, I will 
have. 

I am sorry to complain of any one ; but 
really the gardeners are not kind to me. 
If by any chance the^^ find my nest in the 



THE WILLOW WREN. 79 

Strawberry-bed they destroy it without 
mercy. They mistake the matter. They 
confound us with the petty chaps, mon- 
strous devourers of ripe cherries. But we 
have no taste for fruit : even when we are 
very hungry, and it is put before us, we 
cannot be induced to touch it : yet we 
allow that there is a show of reason in 
the gardeners' bad opinion, for often we are 
seen on the cherry-trees, pecking at the 
leaves, close to the fruit. All our pains, 
however, I can assure them, are directed 
to the buds and leaves, which we free from 
caterpillars and other insects. 

When you have found my nest you will 
see that I have a good notion of protecting 
myself from the weather. I have a com- 
fortable dome over my head, and a nice 
little side-door, to creep in at. I do not 
lay more than seven eggs; that number I 
have found enough for my management, 
and am only surprised at my relation, the 
little brown wren, encumbering herself with 
such large families. I am a very neat crea- 



80 THE WILLOW WREN. 

ture, extremely fond of washing in cold 
water ; and when at large and flying about 
in the fields, this always does me good. 
But should you ever catch one of my race, 
and make him a prisoner in a cage, I 
should advise you not to indulge him hi 
this too freely; for a daughter of mine was 
lately killed by the kindness of a gentleman 
who, knowing her neat habits, placed a 
pan of water in her cage. As usual, she 
ran eagerly to her bath; but, not having 
the liberty of busthng about in the air im- 
mediately after it, and rubbing herself dry 
against the leaves and twigs, she was seized 
with a fit of palsy, and never sang again. 
You must also remember that my species 
are not accustomed to winter in your cli- 
mate. We are birds of passage, and leave 
you the beginning of October, and you will 
not see us again till the latter end of March. 
Our habits, therefore, are not like those of 
the brown wren. As for us, when we reach 
warmer countries, we may continue to 
bathe as long as we please ; but our cou- 



THE WILLOW WREN. 81 

Sins, I am told, prudently content them- 
selves with throwing dust over their backs 
instead of water. 

It is not becoming to praise oneself, but 
most people think I am a very pretty song- 
ster ; and my voice is so loud that I can be 
heard even above the nightingale. I am 
also easily tamed, and not ungrateful for 
kindness ; but truth obliges me to confess, 
that among my companions I am hasty and 
turbulent. Once let me be engaged in sin- 
gle combat, and I am persevering and 
relentless as a game-cock. 

As to my history during my winter mi- 
gration, I would rather not tell you that. It 
is agreed between myself and some other 
birds of passage, that though our doings 
may be very fairly canvassed in those 
countries to which we make our long visits, 
the enquirers have no right to pursue us 
into foreign parts. There we do not trouble 
them. Andalusia may give us her fruits, 
and we may sing our songs in the gardens 
of the Alhambra, or visit the banks of the 



82 THE WILLOW WREN. 

noble Niger. But with all this it seems to 
us that English people have nothing to do ; 
and we are resolved to keep our own coun- 
sel. When we come back, it is enough for 
them if we come in good humour, and are 
ready to sing them our best songs, and 
behave ourselves conformably to their cus- 
toms ; but the rest is our own affair, and I 
am determined not to gratify impertinent 
curiosity. 




THE; TURTLV. DO"JS 



THE TURTLE-DOVE. 



When good Nathanael's praise I read. 

In Scripture's page renown'd, 
" Behold an Israelite indeed. 

In whom no guile is found ;" * 

Methinks his fame is higher far 

Than kings or heroes gain. 
Who reap their laurels in the war 

But not without a stain. 

The gentle words that banish strife 

Our common joys increase ;— 
But what is home, and what is life. 

Without the bond of peace ? 

Then would'st thou earn thy Saviour's praise. 

Whose eye regards the young; 
Let meek discretion guide thy ways. 

And kindness rule thy tongue. 

* See John i. 47. 



S4 THE TURTLE-DOVE. 

So shalt thou learn to keep in sight 

The wisdom from above ; 
With circumspection to unite 

The mildness of the Dove.* 

Sweet bird ! her guileless w^ays I know ; 

Then let me learn from thence, 
To study peace where'er I go. 

And never give offence. 

Do thou, blest Spirit, source of peace. 
Thy heav'nly grace impart ; 

Bid every angry passion cease 
And sanctify my heart. 

• See Matt. x. 16. 




1 



GOLDEN CRfiSTKiJ WREN 



THE GOLDEN-CRESTED WREN. 



" Another wren !" — Yes, indeed ; and 
pray why should there not ? especially as I 
happen to be the only crowned head in the 
whole wren family, which is, as you have 
seen, a very numerous one. Some among 
them, I must say, are as little like real, reg- 
ular wrens as I am like a raven. But let 
that pass ; we little wrens have very liberal 
enlarged minds, and tolerant dispositions : 
only, if the willow-wren, and the little brown 
creature that has been chattering to you, do 
not think it worth their while to mention me, 
it is high time I should assert the honour of 
my crest. I only heard quite by accident 



86 THE GOLDEN-CRESTED WREN. 

what was going on, or I should have been 
here before. The long-tailed tit-mouse was 
talking so loud to his little ones in the 
larches, that I could not help staying to lis- 
ten, though I was very busy at the time ; 
and I heard Bottle Tom say, how abomin- 
able it was in the other tits to speak so little 
to you of him : so, thought I, depend upon 
it my cousin wrens have been before me ; 
and I will take care to let the young gentle- 
man know there is such a bird as the gold- 
en-crested wren. 

Allow me to arrange my feathers : there ! 
now you see me to better advantage. It 
happens very often, I understand, that my 
crest is not observed, in consequence of my 
position, or of my darker feathers being 
somewhat ruffled. I plume myself upon 
being the smallest bird in England. They 
tell me, indeed, that I am only half the 
weight of the brown wren, which I can 
hardly credit ; but if it be true, it proves 
that I must be much more slim and elegant 
in my make, since I am scarcely shorter 



THE GOLDEN-CRESTED WREN. 87 

than he ; but then my bill is more slender 
and light. 

I understand one of these brown wrens 
came to you in winter, and complained a 
great deal of the cold. Poor creatures ! 
they are wonderfully tender. As for me, 
I cannot say I care so much about the 
weather. I am so very busy always, I really 
have no time to think of it. 

You have '' never seen me before." I do 
not wonder at that : I like the very tops of 
the trees ; and, being small and never still 
for a moment, you cannot often get a view 
of me. We whisk about, now on this side, 
now on that, in a way that defies observa- 
tion. 

" What are we so busy about," do you 
ask ? Oh ! I could not tell you half the 
wonderful things we do. A good deal is 
for fun : we like tumbling and dancing of 
all things ; and then we have our nests to 
make, and our families to rear. 

You have heard the long-tailed tit speak 
of his nest : well, ours is nearly as beau- 



88 THE GOLDEN-CRESTED WREN. 

tiful. We hang it, for the most part under 
the broad bough of a fir, or cedar, or yew ; 
and if the bough above forms a good shel- 
ter, we build no dome. Nothing can be 
neater than our way of working, with green 
moss and lichens, felted with wool, and 
lined with the down of willows and a quan- 
tity of soft feathers ; such a number, indeed, 
that I do assure you when my mate sat 
upon her eggs this summer she was quite 
buried in the down, and I was afraid it was 
too warm and close for her health. How- 
ever she survived it, and hatched me ten 
httle ones ; and I must tell you of a singular 
disaster that happened to them. We were 
not so careful as usual in making the bot- 
tom of our nest strong enough to hold our 
large family ; and a few days after they 
were hatched, while I was abroad looking 
for insects, it gave way, and all our young 
ones fell on the ground. Only conceive the 
distress of my mate ; she flew in search of 
me ; but it would have been entirely out of 
my power to help her, and our dear nest- 



THE GOLDEN-CRESTED WREN. 89 

lings would certainly have come to an early 
end, if a kind young lady walking that way, 
almost immediatly after, had not seen them 
on the ground. She understood in a mo- 
ment the whole case, found the nest, and 
with wonderful cleverness fixed in the bot- 
tom, and sewed a large leaf over it ; a 
laurel leaf, I believe. Well, then she pick- 
ed up all our dear little ones, restored them 
to their warm bed, and I leave you to judge 
of the delight of their mother and me. Yet 
even this obligation could not conquer our 
shyness ; and though we peep at Miss P. 
from the top of our trees, and are always 
happy to see her, we have seldom allowed 
her to see us ; which, I own, seems rather 
ungracious. 

I have said that we are tolerably satisfied 
with your climate in winter, and do not 
migrate here ; but we are migrants in more 
northerly regions. Such of us as were 
reared in the Shetland Isles, as soon as we 
are strong enough to bear the flight, come 
and spend the winter in the Orkneys, and 



90 THE GOLDEN-CRESTED WREN. 

more southerly parts ; and then we always 
return to hatch our young in Shetland : and 
in the United States, where birds, bearing 
our family crest, are, I am told, very com- 
mon, we come in April, and generally leave 
the latter part of the year. 

Wherever we are found there is great 
friendship between us and the tits. We 
often bring our families to the same tree ; 
and, though they like the middle story best, 
and we the attic, there is a great deal of 
good-humoured invasion of one another's 
territories, and we sometimes dare one 
another to feats of tumbling. My golden- 
crested younkers are a pretty good match 
for the Bottle Toms ; but for some reason or 
other, the members of my family are not so 
attached as the tits : they very soon dis- 
perse, and care but little about each other. 
While they are together, however, they are 
loving and kind ; and this I suppose is the 
chief thing. Only let us be happy and com- 
fortable, and when we part we shall be very 
happy too, no doubt, though in a different 



THE GOLDEN-CRESTED WREN. 91 

way. This is what I once said to my friend 
Tom Tit ; and he assured me it was very 
like what he once heard one gentleman say 
to another, sitting under his tree, and they 
called it philosophy : and then Tom whisk- 
ed his tail, and looked grand ; for he piques 
himself on listening accurately. I do not 
care what they call it, but it is very pleasant 
to feel as I have said. 



THE WOODPECKER. 

Well, let the other birds go, if they 
please, and tell their stories ; — what is that 
to me ? I have taken care to drum upon 
my hollow old tree loud enough for them 
to know that I am here, and quite ready to 
answer any questions that may be asked ; 
but they who wish to be acquainted with 
me must visit me at my own house, for 
the woodpecker is nothing without his tree. 
My dear old oak! how happy I am in 
having found such a home ! 

The wood I was reared in was a plea- 
sant one, and my mother always spoke 
much in praise of poplars ; but on the 
whole I am sure I have done wisely in 




THE WOODPECXBR 



THE WOODPECKER. 93 

travelling so far, and fixing my abode at 
last here, where we are not overdone with 
woodpeckers, and where there are plenty 
of old trees which seem almost to ask for 
my aid in clearing them of the insects that 
are devouring them. There seems no rea- 
son why my mate and I should not rear 
up a fine brood of young ones here ; and 
I hope the owner of the wood will thank 
me for the favour I am doing him. 

Stay! while I am waiting, I may as 
well try what sort of a sound I can draw 
from some of these other trees ; for we must 
remember our young ones will wish to 
establish themselves another year. Tap ! 
that wont do ! the wood is as sound as pos- 
sible. I must leave that for ages to come. 
Let me try this beech — tap ! tap ! that is 
better ; perhaps it may be a great grand- 
child's portion. I do not think it will be 
ready, however, these ten years. That 
pollard ash; (tap!) much better; it has 
really a very pretty hollow sound ; it will 
do in less time ; in two or three summers. 



94 THE WOODPECKER. 

perhaps, it will be no very tough job to 
scoop a hole in it big enough for a nest for 
my grand-children. Meantime it will fur- 
nish me with many a meal. I can see that 
there are myriads of insects just under the 
bark, and plenty of work going on in the 
branches. But that old elm yonder ; really 
that is a most delightful tree. No occasion 
for me to try it now ; I sounded it in three 
places yesterday, and they all gave out 
charming music. How my children will 
bless me, by and by, for having chosen 
them such a place as this ! Why, it is a 
legacy for ages ! Woodpeckers after wood- 
peckers may Uve and die here, and enjoy 
domestic happiness with the least possible 
trouble. 

Where can my mate be ! Oh ! I hear 
him ; he heard me tapping just now, and has 
begun the same sport. There he is, drum- 
ming away ; and the sound rolls through 
the woods, and echoes again from the oppo- 
site bank of the stream, till you would think 
a dozen of us were at work. 



THE WOODPECKER. 95 

What a pity it is that a fine old wood 
like this should not be able to tell its own 
tale ! My own oak, now : how many en- 
tertaining accounts it might give me, as 
I sit within on my eggs, of all the strange 
things it has seen ! My mother used to tell 
me that her parents were reared in an oak, 
and that they had heard very long histories 
of things that had happened three or four 
hundred years ago. I dare say this house 
of mine is as old as any in the kingdom. 
There is still a good deal of life in the 
branches ; and I see signs of a crop of 
acorns this year ; but the inside of the trunk 
is so empty that if it were not for the boughs 
I should not have taken such a fancy to it. 
The other day I heard some gentlemen talk- 
ing about it, as they stood looking up at the 
tree ; and I kept very close, determined to 
hear what could be said. " Ah ! " said one, 
" and is this the great oak that was planted 
in the reign of king John ? what a fine old 
ruin." " The very same," replied the other. 
''You see it is quite hollow and useless as 



96 THE WOODPECKER. 

timber ; but I shall keep it as long as it will 
stand as a curiosity;" and then they said 
something about one Robin Hood, which I 
did not understand ; and they spoke of the 
beautiful deer, which in past times used to 
browse on the green turf around ; and they 
sighed and groaned, as if there was noth- 
ing now worth seeing in the woods. I had 
a great mind to show myself just then ; for 
I could not help thinking, if the gentlemen 
knew what beautiful birds the woodpeckers 
were, it would be a great consolation to 
them ; but, not being certain how they 
would receive me, I thought it better to be 
quiet. 

And here, at last, is my mate : how very 
handsome he is ! Such a rich glossy green ; 
such a brilliant red crown ; and such bright 
yellow feathers towards the tail ! and then 
such a beak as that is a fortune to a bird — 
it is meat, drink, and habitation. His little 
joyous cry, too, what a pleasant sound it is ! 

If any one wishes to see my nest, it is 
not very difficult to reach. I have taken 



THE WOODPECKER. 97 

care to scoop out the hole pretty deep, and 
to open it under a bough, so that not every 
idle schoolboy may see it ; but those who 
are really curious, and do not wish to harm 
me, may look in. I must just tell you, how- 
ever, that we have a clever, quick way of 
playing bo-peep with a passer by : we glide 
around the tree so as always to be on the 
opposite side to the observer ; and then, as 
we carry in no moss, or feathers, or other 
material for the lining of our nests, there is 
nothing to betray us : we merely make the 
hole, and lay our eggs on the soft, powdery 
bark. Four or five of them there generally 
are ; and when our young come out, they 
live on the tree for some time before they 
attempt to fly any further. 

We are capital at catching ants ; and 
here I must tell you that our tongue is as 
useful to us as our bills. It is six inches 
long, and barbed, so that it draws out the 
larger insects as with a hook ; and it is sup- 
plied with a sticky, glutinous fluid at the tip, 
so that the smaller ones are caught upon it 



98 



THE WOODPECKER. 



as with bird-lime. If you could watch us 
when feeding, you would be astonished at 
the quantity of insects we thus catch and 
devour. We are enabled to support our- 
selves on the trunks of upright trees by 
means of our short, strong legs, and hooked 
claws. Indeed our feet are so remarkably 
fitted for the purpose, that I should like to 
give any one a particular lesson on the sub- 
ject, who has time and patience to attend 
to me. "See here!" I would say, ''this 
foot of mine is yoke-toed :" that is, two of 




its toes are turned back, and two forward, 
and the two front are yoked together at the 
place where the leg ends and the foot begins. 
Thus I am able to walk up a branch, while 
my strong, stiff tail serves me as a support 
behind ; but I cannot come down very clev- 



THE WOODPECKER. 99 

erly : I am obliged to come backwards ; and 
though I stand and peg at the hole in the 
tree very safely, I am not equal to my neigh- 
bours, nut-hatch and tree-creeper, in running 
over it just where they please. I dare say 
they will tell their stories ; for indeed they 
have much to tell of their life in the forest ; 
but, for myself, I cannot take leave without 
introducing you to a giant of my race, who 
lives in the woods of America. I myself, 
the green woodpecker, or picus viridis, am 
thirteen inches long ; but he, the ivory-billed 
woodpecker, who is also called picus princi- 
palis, is twenty ; and his beak is an inch 
broad at the base, of the colour and hardness 
of ivory, and half an inch of the tongue is as 
hard as horn, flat and pointed, and barbed. 
He is the prince of our people, by all ac- 
counts, and chooses royal palaces for his 
dwelling. No common tree will content my 
cousin picus principalis : no common forest. 
The cypress swamps, where enormous trees 
rear their lofty heads to heaven, are his 
favourite abodes. There he is the grand 



100 THE WOODPECKER. 

performer. Hour after hour his loud double- 
drum is sounding ; and, if you can make 
your way through the underwood, and do 
not lose yourself among the thick twisted 
rhododendrons and hemlocks, you will have 
no difficulty in seeing where he has been. 
There, I am told, you will find cartloads of 
bark lying under the pines, enough to make 
vou think a dozen woodmen had been at 
work. No ; none but the woodpecker : you 
may gaze at the trees in wonder and dis- 
may. At first you can think no otherwise 
than that he is a reckless wretch, worthy of 
nothing but punishment. It is not so : thou- 
sands of towering pines would be laid low 
in one season by one insect, if it were not 
for him. The enemy " lodges between the 
bark and the tender wood, and drinks up 
the very vital part of the tree :" * and you 
would see more of them standing without 
bark or leaf, a miserable spectacle in the 
space of a few months, if it were not for the 

* Wilson. — American Ornithology. 



THE WOODPECKER. 101 

woodpecker. Such a surgeon as he is ! no 
gentle glancing over the surface of a dis- 
eased part; but deep, deep cutting and 
probing. 

I could also tell you of my other Ameri- 
can cousins. They are not so large as the 
ivory-billed bird ; but as spirited. Some of 
them are less in repute among the farmers, 
because they attack the Indian corn ; and 
one of the race is a great devourer of the 
apples ; a most unfair one too, since he is 
the daintiest fellow that can be, and is sure 
to single out the best tree and the finest fruit. 
Well, nobody can say this of me. I trouble 
no one ; and if any man grudges me an old 
tree or two in the wood, I only say that I 
wish he may never be in want himself of a 
covering over his head, and food to eat; and 
I wish that he would walk into the woods 
with the pleasant and simple feeling of a 
child, and then I think he would be all the 
happier for seeing the happiness of our race 



THE ROBIN RED-BREAST 

AND 

CUCKOO. 

Hen Red-breast. {To the boy.) Yes; 
I see you are admiring me : and indeed 
you are not singular. I am a very wonder- 
ful bird ! Such a thing has happened to 
me ! Just come a little way down the lane 
to my nest, and you shall see. There ! did 
3^ou ever in your Ufe see a young robin so 
large as that? Be so kind as to come a 
little nearer, for it has the trick of opening 
its mouth so wide when my mate and I 
come near, that you can see little else, un- 
less you look closely : — a little nearer if 
you please. There : I will get upon this 
thorn while you peep in 




DBIN RBID-BRBAST AND CUCKOO. 



THE ROBIN RED-BREAST AND CUCKOO. 103 

But soft ! what have we here ; you are 
treading on something that belongs to me. 
As sure as I am a red-breast, it is one of 
my own poor Httle robins that I left in the 
nest a few minutes ago; the poor pet has 
certainly tumbled out and been killed. I 
must speak to my large nestling, and beg 
her to be so kind as to take better care of 
the other little one. 

Stay ! now you can have a good view of 
it. Quite a superior bird, you see : some- 
thing not at all in the common way. The 
tail so long, and the colours very different 
from those of robins in general. I am sure 
my mate is extremely unreasonable not to 
be delighted with it. Here he comes, how- 
ever, with a fine worm. — Well, Robin, dear; 
you look tired ! Come, sit down by me 
on this perch, and rest yourself a little 
time. 

Robin. Rest ! rest ! my dear. How is 
it possible one should have any time for 
rest with such a great, ugly, ravenous crea- 
ture as that in the nest? 



104 THE ROBIN RED-BREAST 

Hen. Nay, Robin, now you are down- 
right cross ; I am sure you must allow it 
is very handsome. 

Robin. I allow no such thing, Mrs. Red- 
breast : it is an ugly, voracious, selfish 
thing. I am sure you cannot know that it 
has thrown one of our own dear little ones 
out of the nest. 

Hen-* Indeed, Robin, I do know it, and 
am very sorry ; but I dare say it was en- 
tirely accident. You must give him some 
of your excellent advice, for you know, my 
dear, I always trust to you, with your 
good sense, to talk to the chicks when they 
are naughty. 

Robin. Talk to them, indeed ! that will 
not bring my poor son Robin to life. How 
in the world did you come to hatch such a 
monster? * 

Hen. And pray, my dear, will you tell 
me how I could possibly have helped it? 
I found the egg, as you very well know, in 

* See Note at the end of the story. 



AND CUCKOO. 105 

the nest one day when we had been out, 
and I showed it you directly. You know 
I told you it was bigger than my own, and 
not the same colour ; but I little looked for 
so large a bird from it. If you did not 
like it you should have thrown it out; but, 
on the contrary, I am certain you looked 
quite pleased. 

Robin. No such thing, my dear, I was 
not pleased at all ; but you looked so proud 
and happy that I did not like to mortify 
you : and then, since the bird has been 
hatched, you have done nothing but admire 
it, and gossip with the neighbours about it, 
while I am to have all the trouble of feed- 
ing this prodigy of yours. You do not 
even stop at home to keep it from doing 
mischief: and there are all the neighbours 
laughing at you the whole time. 

Hen. Laughing, Robin ! No, sure, you 
must be mistaken ; they are quite envious 
of us, I am certain ! 

Robin. Excuse me, Mrs. Red-breast, 
but I cannot be mistaken. I heard neigh- 



106 THE ROBIN RED-BREAST 

bour Wagtail chattering with Mrs. Tithng 
as I came by just now ; and she says 
she has a cousin who had just such a 
child last spring, and it was nearly the 
death of her : she hopes she shall never 
have the ill-luck to have such another. 
Then there were a party of sparrows jab- 
bering all together, and laughing at us with 
all their might. " A pretty piece of busi- 
ness chalked out for the robins," said one. 
" Do you know they have got a young 
cuckoo to bring up! " — " Time they should 
have their turn," said another ; '' I had it 
last year ; but it shall never happen to me 
again, if I can help it. I will push the ugly 
thino^ out before it has had time to do me 
any mischief, I am determined." — " But do 
you hear," said another, '' how mightily 
proud Mrs. Red-breast is of her charge? 
She has been all round the grove this after- 
noon to tell us what a fine bird there is in 
her nest." And then they all chattered and 
laughed to such a degree, that if I had not 
been sobered, I should certainly have flown 



AND CUCKOO. 107 

in among them, and chastised them for 
their insolence. 

Hen. Better not, Robin ; better not, my 
dear mate. You know you have often allow- 
ed to me that you are of rather a hasty tem- 
per, and wish you could learn to curb it. 
Come, let me help you to smooth your feath- 
ers a little ; and then, perhaps, my dear, 
you will indulge us with a song. {Cuckoo 
screams.) 

Robin. Song, indeed ! It will be long 
enough before that creature learns music! 
I declare it is screeching for food again 
already ; and our other little red-breast 
has not had more than a single worm this 
morning. What am I to do ? 

Hen. Stay where you are, Robin, and 
let me have my turn this time. I am rather 
delicate, it is true, and cannot fly far ; but I 
will bring a worm from the brook. 

Robin. No, no; that you shall not, in- 
deed. I am rested now, and will set out 
again directly : only promise me, my dear, 
that you will stay at home, and see that all 



108 



THE ROBIN RED-BREAST 



goes on fight till I come back. I would not 
lose our other little bird for all the great 
things that were ever hatched. 

Hen. Well, I will, I will ! There ; you 
see I am on the nest now : no harm can pos- 
sibly happen. {Robin departs,) 

Hen. So, little boy, you are still there ; 
I am very glad of that ; for I wanted you 
to admire my nesthng more leisurely. That 
mate of mine is a worthy fellow ; but he 
does want taste sadly. He does not know a 
beautiful bird when he sees it. Now, as I 
have often observed you peering about here, 
I dare say you do ; and I have the greatest 
pleasure in welcoming you. I will just hop 
upon the next bough, and you can look as 
much as you please. 

Apropos : here is my neighbour Mrs. Tit- 
ling. I can never believe she is so ill- 
natured as Robin says ; but we will see. 
Well, neighbour Titling ! you are come to 
look at my new nestling at last. 

Titling. Why, yes, Mrs. Red-breast, I 
had a mind to see whether it be the bird I 



AND CUCKOO. 109 

have heard so much of; — one that makes 
the oddest kind of cry imaginable, not at all 
like the singing of any bird I know. Aye, I 
see ; yes ; I am sorry to tell you it is the 
very same. A cuckoo, as sure as I am 
alive ! This is a very unfortunate circum- 
stance, my dear friend : I am deeply con- 
cerned for you. You really have no idea of 
the trouble you will have. 

Hen. You do not say so, Mrs. Titling! 
I confess I was inclined to be pleased with 
the charge, and to think a great honour had 
been done me. 

Titling. Honour ! my dear Mrs. Red- 
breast : do not you know that the mother of 
this bird is the laziest, most good-for-nothing 
creature that flies ? Do not you know that 
she makes no scruple of dropping an egg in 
the nests of any of her poor neighbours, and 
leaving them all the trouble of bringing up 
her child, while she never looks after one 
herself? It is really abominable. 

Hen. Well, I am very sorry ; very much 
shocked at what you tell me : but it strikes 



110 THE ROBIN RED-BREAST 

me, — suppose I try to bring up this bird 
better than her mother. What do you think 
of that scheme now, by dear Mrs. Tithng ? 
will it not be a very noble thing if any of 
us little birds succeed, by pains-taking, in 
educating young cuckoos so as that they 
shall never play such sad tricks again. 
Well ; what say you ? 

Titling. I do not know, Mrs. Red-breast, 
indeed, what to say. I have great doubts of 
your success — most likely the sin goes by 
inheritance ; but to tell you the truth, I had 
a scheme of my own, hatched between me 
and two or three other mothers, which we 
are thinking of proposing for general adop- 
tion ; and that is to make all the birds sign 
an agreement to turn out every egg that a 
cuckoo lays in their nests ; then we should 
see if the bird really is so hardened a wretch 
as people say, or whether she would not be 
induced to take a little trouble herself, rather 
tlian that there should be an end of the 
cuckoo race. 

{During this dialogue the young cuckoo has 



AND CUCKOO. Ill 

been peeping out to see that he is not observed: 
ivat citing his opportunity^ he hoists the remain- 
ing little red-hreast on his hack^ and throws it 
with a jerk out of the nest,) 

Hen. No, indeed, I am not equal to that, 
my dear Mrs. Titling. I prefer my plan ; 
and only think what a triumph it will be of 
good over evil ! and my mate, who really 
is a generous fellow, can have nothing to 
say against it. He often tallvs of the advan- 
tages of early discipline ; this is quite a 
case in point, — he can begin as soon as 
he pleases. 

Titling. Neighbour Red-breast, be so 
good as to look what your foundling has 
done. 

Hen. Oh, what will become of me ! 
what will become of me ! my other little 
red-breast thrown out too, and Robin com- 
ing home ! and I promised him not to leave 
the nest. Oh ! dear Mrs. Tithng, tell me 
what I shall do ! 

Titling. My dear friend, how can you 
ask such a question? No doubt you will 



112 THE ROBIN RED-BREAST 

immediately begin to give the cuckoo a 
good moral education. I thought you talked 
of returning good for evil. 

Hen. You ill-natured creature ! now I 
see it is true, as Robin said, that you were 
all laughing at me : but what does it sig- 
nify talking? Oh! my poor little red-breast, 
I shall never be able to get you into the 
nest again ; and I dare not stay till Robin 
comes home. Oh, what shall I do ! what 
shall I do ! 

Titling. Better be off, my dear, as 
soon as you can, I think. 

Hen. No, that I will not : — what ! leave 
all the trouble to poor Robin ; and he 
coming home tired and grieved ! No, thank 
you, neighbour Titling, for your advice ; 
but I do know better than that. 

Titling. Well, I see I can be of no fur- 
ther service, so I wish you good morning, 
Mrs. Red-breast; hoping you will have a 
pleasant task in bringing up your charge. 

Hen Red-breast alone. {In a melan- 
choly tone,) There is one thing, — one only 



AND CUCKOO. 113 

I can do : — the poor little thing is alive, 
and I hope not much hurt. I will push him 
up into that snug corner, just at the foot 
of the tree, where there is plenty of warm 
moss, and cover him over carefully till 
Robin comes home ; and see, here is a fine 
worm for him. Come, I do begin to hope 
he will live. Oh, I wish, though I dread 
to see Robin ! 

{Robin returns : — she fiies to him, and tells 
him the whole story. Robin examines the little 
bird, finds him unhurt, then seats himself by 
his mate.) 

Robin. Well, my dear, I see you are 
very sorry, and are ready to allow this 
wonderful creature is no such precious 
treasure as you thought ; and now we 
must think what is best to be done. 

Hen. Why, you are a great deal too 
kind, Robin. I fully expected you would 
scold and storm, and perhaps peck at me 
furiously. 

Robin. I am afraid to think of what I 
might have done if our little bird had been 

H 



114 THE ROBIN RED-BREAST 

killed; but, perhaps, this is the best thing 
that could have happened; for I am con- 
vinced that great creature never would 
have allowed it to grow up in the nest. 

Hen. An ugly, ill-tempered thing! 

Robin. "Ugly!" my dear! I thought 
you considered it very handsome ! 

Hen. No, Robin, "handsome is that 
handsome does;" and you are very hand- 
some, Robin. 

Robin. Now do not flatter and coax, 
or, perhaps, I shall be angry. Well, first, 
what do you think we had better do with 
this very beautiful bird? 

Hen. Oh ! I do not know ; I suppose 
you will be for letting it take its chance. 

Robin. There you are wrong again, Mrs. 
Red-breast. I should be the most misera- 
ble bird in the universe if I could do such 
a thing as abandon the poor creature to 
starve. On the contrary, I intend to feed 
it, and expect you will do the same, as 
long as it requires our aid : and we will 
do our best to shelter our own httle nesthng 



AND CUCKOO. 115 

in this snug hole you have found for him. 
He will of course require double care ; and 
I shall be very timid about leaving him, 
lest some polecat or weasel should take a 
fancy to him: but I trust, my dear, you 
will spare no pains now to guard him. 

Hen. Oh, Robin ! do not trust me. If you 
will but take the charge of him, I will be on 
the wing all day long, picking up food for 
him ; but do not leave me here any more. 

Robin. Now you are my own good, 
humble, gentle little dame again, and I will 
trust you thoroughly. Let me see : we will 
take our turns with both the birds, and you 
shall find how nicely we will manage : and, 
my dear, if any of the neighbours laugh 
at us, I will sing so loud a song that you 
shall not be able to hear them chatter. 
That is the way to get through the world 
and silence evil tongues. So do not mind 
about the cuckoo or anything ; but just 
let us take things as we have found them, 
and make the best of them, and we will 
be the happiest robins that ever were. 



NOTE I. 

I dare not vouch for the perception of our rohins or other 
small birds, nor can I account for the fact that they have 
never, as far as I can learn, been observed to turn out a 
cuckoo's egg, except on the supposition that they do not 
knovfT it. One may be allowed, however, to imagine that 
possible of one bird which is certainly true of another, 
though a similar consequence may not ensue. A cat-bird 
was observed by Wilson during the process of forming its 
nest, and afterwards of incubation. When it had laid three 
or four eggs, Mr. Wilson took out two, and, in their place, 
put two of the eggs of the brown thrush, and took his stand 
at a convenient distance to see how the bird would behave. 
" In a minute or two," says he, " the male made his appear- 
ance, stooped down, and looked earnestly at the strange 
eggs ; then flew off to his mate, with whom he seemed to 
have some conversation, and instantly returning, with the 
greatest gentleness took out both the thrush's eggs, first one 
and then the other, carried them singly about thirty yards, 
and dropped them among the bushes. I then returned the 
two eggs I had taken, and soon after the female resumed her 
place as before." 



NOTES. 117 

The above is curious ; but what shall we say to the Sama- 
ritan-like kindness and charity of the male in the anecdote 
which immediately follows ? " From the nest of another 
cat-bird I took two half- fledged young, and placed them in 
that of another which was sitting on five eggs. She soon 
turned them both out. The place where the nest was, not 
being far from the ground, they were little injured ; and the 
male, observing their helpless situation, began to feed them 
with the greatest tenderness and assiduity." — Wilson. — 
American Ornithology, Vol. II. Constable's Edi- 
tion. ^ 



NOTE II. 

There can be no doubt, from the observations of Mr. Wil- 
son and others, that the cow-bird, or cow-bunting, of Amer- 
ica, lays its eggs in the nests of other birds — these birds 
being all considerably smaller than the parasitical one. No 
instance, as yet, is known in which the cow-bunting makes 
her own nest ; and the eggs of the birds into whose nests 
the intrusion is made uniformly disappear. The egg of the 
cow-bird is much larger than that of any one of the birds 
whose domicile she is kind enough to visit. The descrip- 
tion given by Dr. Potter of the agitation of the original pro- 
prietor of the nest is diverting enough : — " The yellow- 
throat returned, while I waited near the spot, and darted 
into her nest ; but returned immediately, and perched upon 
a bough near the place, remained a minute or two, and en- 



118 NOTES. 

tered it again ; returned and disappeared. In ten minutes 
she returned with the male. They chattered with great 
agitation for half an hour, seeming to participate in the 
affront^ and then left the place." — So far Dr. Potter. But 
is it an affront ? Do the naturalists understand enough of 
the language of birds to distinguish on this occasion the ex- 
pressions of wonder, perhaps of admiration, from those of 
indignation ? The ascertained fact is, that the foundling 
egg, the subject of such wrath, is not turned out of the nest, 
while the eggs of the parent birds invariably, I believe, are. 
The presumption then is, that it is a favour rather than an 
affront. 

But when shall we cease to marvel at Providence ! We 
have just seen the cat-bird pertinaciously resisting attempts 
to make her hatch the offspring of another bird. How is it 
that the cuckoo and the cow-bunting are not turned adrift ? 
We see their young, every where orphans, yet everywhere 
protected. In violation of all common rule and instinct, a 
mother-bird abandons her young to the care of others, and 
is allowed to be a parent without sharing either in a pa- 
rent's affection or labour; and to meet this extraordinary 
exception to the usual course of things, we have another, 
not so remarkable certainly, because not so rare, of a uni- 
versal w^illingness to accept the charge, even when it in- 
volves the destruction of the foster-parent's whole family ! 








^.^^W . ''^*^^^*^'^ 



THE PfiiiCOCX. 



THE PEACOCK. 



Proud of his bright and spreading train, 
And steps that spurn the ground, 

Fit emblem of the weak and vain, / 
The Peacock gazes round. 

He gazes for applause ; but when 

His feathers droop and fade. 
Ashamed he shuns th' abode of men 3 

And seeks his native shade. 

No more the gallant bird and gay, 
That Israel's monarch prized, * 

Or heroes honoured in their day. 
But mean, forlorn, despised 



* 1 Kings, X. 22. 



120 THE PEACOCK. 

The crest is fall'n that tower'd so high 
The plume from yonder bough, 

That shone like Argus' blazing eye, 
Is dull and draggled now. 

Thus changed a lesson he conveys, 
And warning to the young. 

Who love the honour, fame, and praise. 
That to the world belong. 

What are the grace and ornament 
Of beauty, wealth, or power ? 

A trust assigned, a treasure lent, 
Possessions of an hour. 

The eyes that flashed with pride of life. 
The high unbending form. 

The hands that minister'd to strife. 
Must mingle with the worm. 

Shall earth and ashes then be proud ^ 

No ! each event we scan 
Proclaims in language clear and loud, 

Pride was not made for man.* 

Let us our best adorning find, 

Not in display or dress : 
The spirit meek, the quiet mind, 

This, this is loveliness. 

♦ Ecclus. X. 9. 18. r 



^ 



THE PEACOCK. 121 

More rich than gold, than gems more bright, 

A temper sweet and mild 
Is precious in Jehovah's sight * 

And decks the Christian child. 

The grace that in excitement lives 

May sparkle for a day ; 
But that the Holy Spirit gives 

Shall never fade away 



♦ 1 Pet. iii. 3, 4. 



THE LITTLE BROWN WREN. 



I HAVE no objection to other birds being 
called wrens, as well as myself — and a great 
many there are, I understand, who assume 
that name, — -but no bird beside me shall be 
called troglodytes vulgaris^ that I am deter- 
mined. It does not signify if you cannot 
understand why I have gained that name : 
indeed, to tell the truth, I do not know myself. 
That Latin dictionary, young gentleman, 
will not help you much; for, though you 
may know enough of Latin to know that 
troglodytes means a " dweller in caves," that 
is not the question ; but rather, why I, who 
never saw a cave in my life, am named so. 
Just so far may be said, that I hide up my 



ii/.*'#^-- 




LITTI.E "BROWN WRffN 



THE LITTLE BROWN WREN. 123 

nest very snugly, and sometimes build under 
the brow of a river's bank, where the waters, 
in their constant flow, have washed away 
the under part, and left a little overhanging 
turf. But then I like as well a hole in an 
ivied wall, and the side of a haystack, or 
the eves of a thatched cottage. 

This is bitterly cold weather. I am try- 
ing to keep myself warm, I assure you ; 
shuffling and hopping about as fast as ever I 
can : but I am not at all certain that I shall 
get through this winter. You have no idea 
how sorrowful the cold makes us WTcns. At 
all times we are gentle and peaceable as 
it is possible : but the frost ! really it does 
pinch me so much that I am quite afraid of 
being made cross ; and, therefore, I dare not 
mix much with my fellows. I get by my- 
self, and bear it as well as I can ; and if 
they will but let me into the cow-house, I 
dare say the cattle will keep me warm. I 
shall take up very little room there, I am 
such a tiny little morsel of life ; and I look 
even shorter than I am, because, instead of 



124 THE LITTLE BROWN WREN. 

carrying my tail in the direction of my back, 
I set it up erect, almost like a turkey-cock. 
They tell me altogether I am about four 
inches long. I am quite aware that I am 
not handsome. Indeed, I have no idea of 
being admired, and I keep very much to 
myself and my family, and only desire to 
live as He who made me meant me to live. 
I suppose a great gay bird was made for 
some rather different purpose ; but we, little 
brown wrens, are in general very happy. 
And we have heard that there is nothing too 
small for the great Maker of all to attend 
to: so we go on building our nests as our 
mothers did before us, as we suppose other 
birds will build when we are gone. It is 
pretty work, just doing as wrens were 
meant to do, without thinking of any thing 

else. 

If I were in the warm cow-house now, or 
the sun were to break out and melt away 
this frost, I could sing you one of my most 
cheerful songs ; and you would feel in a 
moment that the bird who could pipe away 



THE LITTLE BROWN WREN. 125 

SO merrily must be happy ; but you have 
called me out in such a pinching day, that 
really I can hardly chirp, much less sing. 
Well ! now I have warmed myself by a 
little hopping about, and met with a few 
nice insects, I will tell you about my nest. 




Let me build with what material I may, 
nobody can say I am slovenly : on the con- 
trary, I always take the greatest pains to 
work neatly and strongly ; but I do not 
always use the same things, nor shape my 
house in the same way ; for if there be no 
sheltering pent-house just over my head, I 
make myself a dome, and if there be, I am 



I :i() TiiK Lirri.K ijiu>wn wren. 

conlcMit wiilioiii it. Also, tliouoh in general 
1 [)rt^rrr using n great deal of brauliful green, 
moss, yet it' I build in a liay-stack, grass 
will sometimes serve me. I line well with 
hair, wool, tealluMs, and down. 

That is but a, foolish story which th(^ boys 
t(^ll of my mate's nests — *' eock-nests" they 
eall iheni. I assure you our coek birds are 
not sueh simph^tons as to spend their time 
in making sevtMal other liousc\s near our 
own, whili^ wc^ are sitting on our (\ggs. The 
fiet is, that we are oIumi obliged to leave 
our nests before they are iinished ; if we 
have reason to think they are discovered; 
and so these wise people have fancied that 
our mates havi^ hccn building as well as 
ours(^lv(^s. 1 can answiu* for mine : — he 
lit^lped me to make that in which 1 hatched 
last summer, and was very kind in sitting 
wcwY me and singing to me while I sat: and 
then wIkmi our liltli^ ones were hatclunl, and 
\\\cvc wcxc tw(^lvt^ of them, he took liis full 
share in iciuiing tluMU. Do you ask what 
is bix'ome o( him and themV — Why, indeed 



THE LITTLE BROWN WREN. 127 

I do not know. And if you question me 
very closely, perhaps I must say I do not 
care. We wrens love all other wrens so 
well, that we have not a great deal of affec- 
tion to spare for particular individuals ; and 
my mate and young, I suppose, are of my 
mind. But I have my eye on a very sub- 
stantial, proper-looking cock at this very 
time, and I believe he is thinking of me too ; 
very likely he will be my mate next spring ; 
but we must see this frost and snow away 
first. 

I cannot stay and talk with you any 
longer because of the rheumatism in my 
left leg; so pray excuse me. Good bye! 



THE FERN OWL. 



I AM anxious to have a place among the 
birds whom you are catechising about their 
history and habits, for though I am happy 
to say people are beginning to open their 
eyes to my true character, and I constantly 
hear my innocence of all bad propensities 
asserted by competent persons, my race 
have had a very long struggle for common 
justice. It is hardly half a century since 
one Mr. White of Selborne protested that 
we were utterly incapable of doing the mis- 
chief imputed to us; that we never could, 
by any possibility, milk goats ; nor, said he, 
were we the least likely to wound cattle 
with our bills. He said very true ; but pre- 




FERN OWL. 



THE FERN OWL. 129 

judice is strong, and a bad name was still 
fastened upon us. The fern owl was still 
called the goat-sucker in English, and in 
Latin caprimulgus^ which keeps up the 
error. Let me entreat you, kind friend of 
birds, whenever you talk Latin about me, 
rather to call me nyctichelidon. This is my 
latest name, — given me by a gentleman 
who knows me well ; and I see no objec- 
tion to it, except that it may be a little hard 
to spell and pronounce at first sight ; but 
for the sake of justice, you, I am confident, 
will soon overcome that small difficulty. 
Then, in English, you may always call me 
the fern owl. 

I am really very harmless, except to 
nocturnal moths, and night-flying insects. 
What the swallow does for you in the broad 
noon-day, I do in the twilight — and later. 
He clears the air of the numerous day-in- 
sects, which would otherwise be too many 
for your comfort and the beauty of your 
vegetation ; and I do the same by those 
other enemies, which though less visible to 



130 THE FERN OWL. 

you, are quite as mischievous. But I hav^e 
long felt that I shall find no sympathy 
among other birds. The swallows rejoice 
and sport together all day long ; but I have 
few companions, and, what is worse, I am 
taken for an enemy, and insulted and per- 
secuted by nearly all the small birds, who 
mistake me for a hawk, though I have 
never injured them. Thus I have learned 
to amuse myself with my own reflections ; 
and, except at such times as I come out 
and fly round your oak-trees in an evening 
in search of prey, I lead the life of a very 
hermit. 

I am certainly too of an indolent turn, 
and take no trouble in building my nest. 
On the bare ground, just at the foot of a 
large beech or oak-tree, you may sometimes 
find my two dusky eggs. I come to this 
country in May, and I leave it early in 
September, and have plenty of time to 
rear my one small brood. 

As to my person, I will not say I am of 
a handsome form; but I believe it is ao^reed 



THE FERN OWL. 131 

on all hands that the marking of my plu- 
mage is extremely beautiful. It is freckled 
and powdered with different browns; quite 
an elaborate piece of painting. You may 
see my picture in many books ; only 1 
would wish to observe upon it that I am 
generally drawn with my mouth open, (for 
a reason I will explain,) and that this gives 
me a fierce look, which I do not possess, 
and takes me at a disadvantage ; because 
my mouth certainly is very large. But I 
do not wonder at artists ; for one very pecu- 
liar thing about me is that I possess, in com- 
mon with some relations of mine in Amer- 
ica, a set of large strong bristles on each 
side of my mouth. 

There is only one family of us in Eng- 
land ; and therefore this is the more re- 
markable. Our bills are not unlike the 
swallow, except in this respect. Both of 
us have them so formed as that the sides do 
not quite close, and we can thus carry any 
soft substance without crushing it ; but we, 
who hawk by night, find great convenience 



132 



THE FERN OWL, 



in the hairs I have mentioned, which both 
serve as feelers, and also entangle and en- 
close the insects we catch. 

Our song is a strange one, and unlike that 
of other birds ; being a sort of hissing and 
booming, which is said to be louder, but 
similar to that of large beetles, when on the 
wing at twilight. We also produce a snap- 
ping sound, by striking our wings rather 
smartly over our backs when any intruder 
approaches our haunts ; and on such occa- 
sions we fly round his head and make all 
the noise we can to frighten him, but, be 
yond this, we are powerless. 

Our length is about ten inches, and our 
weight three ounces. Some of our Ameri- 
can cousins are bigger, and some smaller 
than this. We have two in that part of the 
world, called by the odd names of " chuck- 
Will's widow," and " whip-poor- Will," 
about whom I must say a few words, be- 
cause they are really oddities, and worth 
your knowing. They are birds of passage, 
too, and come to North America in April; 



THE FERN OWL. 133 

and during all that month and the month 
of May, they keep up their singular call 
for several hours every evening, and again 
before the morning's dawn. Their names 
they gain from their song, which is, in one, 
an exact repetition of the words '' chuck 
Will's widow," every syllable being dis- 
tinctly pronounced, and the principal stress 
laid on the last word. The other, '' whip- 
poor-Will," also utters the words from 
•which his name is taken. They both hawk, 
as I do, for large moths and insects, and 
have very nearly the same habits. When 
two or three of the " whip-poor-Wills" meet, 
they make a prodigious noise, and strangers 
cannot sleep within hearing of them. They 
come, too, very close to man. They will 
perch on his house, or the neighbouring 
barn, or tree ; but they are rarely seen du- 
ring the day, and still more rarely disturbed 
by the people, who like their busy chorus, 
and hold them in great repute ; — ^not that I 
am aware of any thing in them except their 
odd song, which should make them greater 



134 THE FERN OWL. ^ 

favourites than myself: but so it is, and I 
will try not to envy them ; while I hope 
you, and those to whom I now address my- 
self, will not make my attempt too difficult 
by injustice and calumny. 




L>^5^ 



iilDKR DDCE". 



THE EIDER DUCK. 



To the North ! to the North ! Enter 
your strong-built ship ; and come, if you 
wish to come to me, over a cold Northern 
Ocean. You may keep the shore in view, 
if you please, for a good part of your way : 
you may survey Suffolk, Norfolk, Lincoln-- 
shire, and Yorkshire, and all the eastern 
coast of Scotland. But, perhaps, your cap- 
tain will advise you otherwise, for that 
coast is treacherous, and you will proceed 
more safely at a greater distance from the 
shore. There, dash through the Pentland 
Frith, leave the Orkneys on your left hand. 
True, I believe, you might find many of my 
kindred there, and in the Shetland Isles 



136 THE EIDER DUCK. 

also, but I prefer calling you to my high 
court in Iceland. However, should it hap- 
pen that you are becalmed, and can prevail 
on the captain to lend you a boat, you may 
as well look in on my friends at Sulas- 
Skerry. But it is not often that you will 
have such a chance ; and, even if you have, 
you may be disappointed, for our eggs and 
young, on this wild and lonely rock, are 
often woefully thinned by the gulls, who 
are sworn foes to us, and reign here in 
amazing multitudes. You see, as you draw 
near, what kind of a place it is. The giant 
cliffs stand out as if in defiance of man, and 
all his means of access. Your heart grows 
faint at the lonely, dismal spectacle before 
you. 

Why have I sent you here, do you ask, 
where no human foot can ever yet have 
been, and where there is not a moving thing 
to be seen, nor a sound of life to be heard ? 
Stay ! man has property here ; — that which 
will bring money and money's worth to 
his purse and board. It is his poultry-yard, 



THE EIDER DUCK. 137 

his aviary, and every foot of rock is ten- 
anted. Let your boat touch the little 
strand. Your voice cannot be heard while 
the surges dash and roar around you ; but 
the sailors know what to do. One of them 
has climbed the rock, and sends down a 
broad mass of stone from the top to the 
bottom. 

Mark! what say you now? Look at 
those thousand hollows in the rock that 
each sends out its hosts of living creatures. 
As far as you can see, from the height to 
the shore, it is all birds, birds only. The 
gannet is there, and the tern, the storm 
petrel, the kitty wake, and the puffin, but 
most of all the gull. If you look to the 
very top of the cliff 57-ou will see the skuas, 
those fierce terrible birds, which even the 
eagles dread to approach. The poor fow- 
lers, who resort to the island for eggs, dare 
not go near their nests without long sticks 
armed with spikes ; for, when the birds see 
any one approach, they fall upon him with 
headlong fury, and the spike is an impor- 



138 THE EIDER DUCK. 

tant instrument of defence. Oh ! you may 
hear wonderful things of those fowlers — how 
they are let down by ropes tied round 
their bodies, from one ledge of the rock to 
another, while they hastily fill their bags 
with eggs or young fowl. Sometimes there 
is scarce footing for them to stand upon. 
Sometimes they are on places where they 
cannot stand upright, because of the rock, 
which hangs over them like a ceihng, while 
the sea dashes and roars below. The busy, 
noisy tribe is roused now. The birds brush 
past you like a squall of wind ; you can 
feel the blast of their wings, and they 
darken the sky over your head like a cloud. 

Now is the time, if you want to look at 
my brethren. The wilder people of the 
island are gone, and you may see them 
seated on their downy nests. You may 
almost touch them, so quiet are they, and 
gentle. 

But you have looked long enough now; 
and you must come further, further. Steer 
on toward the North ! 



THE EIDER DUCK. 139 

If all be well, in a few days you may 
look to find yourself in sight of a strange 
land : — mountains of snow stretching far 
and high ; and between these and your 
ship there will be a long stretch of nearly 
level land, covered everywhere with snow, 
though we suppose it to be in the middle 
of June ; and as you go on, there will be 
small, rocky islands, or rocks of all shapes, 
peeping out of the water; but you will 
carefully avoid these, and in due time enter 
the harbour of Reikivig, in Iceland. 

I have nothing to do with the town of 
Reikivig; but you will, perhaps, halt there 
and take your walks in the neighbour- 
hood. It is summer, as I said, and accor- 
dingly you will find little patches of ver- 
dure, and some Alpine plants, moss and 
hchens, and here and there a garden, 
though very rare, in which you may find 
little turnips, potatoes, and radishes. No 
corn, no trees, no shrubs, not even firs. 
Few land-birds, only ravens, the Iceland 
falcon, snow-buntings, snipes, and wagtails ; 



140 THE EIDER DUCK. 

but seabirds plenty : — cormorants, puffins, 
terns, and ducks of my own and other spe- 
cies. You may visit us, as it is summer, by 
day or by night — the hght of our summer 
midnight being much Uke that of a dull 
noon-day in England ; but come when you 
will, you will find us. And we shall like 
best to welcome you to our own little island 
of Vidoe, about four miles from the main 
land. In every little hollow, in every place 
where a nest can possibly be contrived, 
you will see an eider duck. Stroke us ; 
we are not to be disturbed. Our kind mas- 
ters guard us well, and provide us every 
comfort, and in return we enrich him with 
our eggs and down. 

We form our nests of marine plants ; but 
we line them with our own down, that 
beautiful down which we pluck off our 
breasts for the purpose : as each egg is 
laid in the nest, we cover it with more of 
the same warm and delicate covering. If 
allowed to remain undisturbed, we seldom 
lay more than four, of a pale olive-green 



THE ETDER DUCK. 141 

colour, rather larger than those of a com- 
mon duck; but as we are made here the 
property of man, we are enticed to part 
with more of our beautiful down, by the 
removal of our eggs, which leads us to keep 
laying for several weeks, still covering them 
with a fresh supply, to which our pro- 
tectors help themselves freely. In this way 
they will cheat us of half-a-pound apiece 
m the course of a summer; and this they 
sell, I am told, for about six shillings. 

Our eggs, too, are favourite food. Some- 
times the Icelanders boil them hard, and 
serve them up with sauce of sugar and 
cream : sometimes they are hastily cooked 
in those wonderful boiling waters with 
which the island abounds. 

No animal of prey is allowed to approach 
us. The cat and the dog are banished 
from Vidoe while we are rearing our young; 
and if a fox appears, our masters spare 
no pains to be rid of him. 

Our colour, you see, is pale yellowish 
browTi, mottled with lighter shades, and 



142 THE EIDER DUCK. 

with black. Our wings dusky, with rust- 
coloured edges. 

We move toward the south in the winter, 
if the weather be very severe, and the sea 
choked with ice ; if not, we stay where we 
are. We swim on the surface of the waves 
in large flocks, making sometimes long ex- 
cursions by day, but returning at night; 
and, though we are so plump and soft in 
our make, our flight is exceedingly rapid ; 
— not less, when we please, than between 
seventy and eighty miles in an hour. 

And now, though I shall never return 
your visit in my own proper person, yet 
when the cold winter nights come, perhaps 
you may be glad to creep under a coverlet 
which I have stripped my breast to pre- 
pare. There it lies, the warmest, the light- 
est, the softest covering that nature has ever 
given and art applied. It is much that man 
has learned its use : but do not let him 
fancy it was made but for him. He who 
made the bird cares for what he has made, 
and gives it its downy cushion to guard it, 



THE EIDER DUCK. 143 

and to guard its young from the bitter colds 
of the North. I suppose you very often 
think of this ; for so wise and clever a being 
as I have heard man is, must surely know 
how to be thankful for himself and for us 
too. And though our praises may do our 
Maker no good, yet I have understood that 
he loves to see his creatures happy, and 
full of love to him who has made them so. 
But I must leave it to man's own con- 
science ; for it will ill become me, a poor 
Northern bird, to set myself up as a 
preacher to him- 



THE HEN. 



Well, done, brave bird ! extend thy wing; 

Indulge a parent's mood ; 
Beneath that feather'd covering 

How safe will be thy brood. 

No felon hawk shall seize them there , 
Thou'dst hold the wretch at bay, 

And send him wheeling through the air. 
To seek some other prey. 

Let children think of this, and know 

What pains a parent takes. 
Encounters danger, suffers woe. 

All for those children's sakes. " 

May they refrain from language rude, 

Nor show by acts unkind. 
That hard and cold ingratitude 

Is harbour'd in the mind. 



m'-q 




THE HEN. 145 

Let Christians in this emblem scan 

Their Saviour's constant love,* 
Who for our sakes became a man, 

And left His throne above. 

He wept to see a wicked race 

His fost'ring mercy spurn, 
Behind them throw His profFer'd grace. 

And still refuse to turn, f 

How oft would He have brought them in. 

His rest and peace to share ; 
But they preferr'd the paths of sin 

To His Almighty care. 

• Matt, xxiii. 37 f Luke xix. 41-45. 



THE GER, JER, or GYR-FALCON, 



Boy. Bird, wonderful bird ! stay one 
instant, and do not mock me thus by your 
rapid flight. I saw j^ou yesterday, I see you 
again to-day ; but I do not beUeve you be- 
long to this land. I do not think you have 
a home and little ones in England : your 
look is wild and foreign ; you seem scarcely 
to rest your wing for a moment among us ; 
you make havoc among the birds : you take 
what you like, and when you like; as you 
come, so you go. Does any body know 
your story and your home ? 

Falcon. I come from an island far to 
the north, where the icy winter winds would 
chill your poor little frame, and the summer 




*-ER, .TKP, OR 



G-TR-7AT.0OX. 



THE GER-FALCON. 147 

sun would scarce have power enough to 
make your snriall garden gay. I come from 
the haunts of the eider duck and the puffin ; 
and I have but flown over here just to make 
my noon-day meal. You say true ; I do not 
belong to this country. I shall be in Ice- 
land again to-night ; and when I may come 
hither again depends on various things — on 
the weather, on my appetite, or my own 
wish to roam. 

BoY. From Iceland do you come ? * 
What, from that island which is full five 
hundred miles from us in Scotland ? And 
3^ou left it but this morning, and you return 
to-night ? Wonderful ! Of what can your 
wings be made, rapid bird ! that they bear 
you thus swiftly on ? 

Falcon. Something more than an hun- 
dred miles an hour, I believe, indeed, I may 
have travelled.t Nothing extraordinary that, 
however, since you surely know that my 
cousin Peregrine can manage a hundred 

* See Note 1. f See Note 2. 



148 THE GER-FALCON. 

and fifty in the like time ; and besides, my 
child, you have seen me rush forward to 
catch my prey, when my speed was more 
than five times what I have said. No mat- 
ter of wonder then that I should dine in 
Scotland and sup in Iceland ; but wonder- 
ful, very wonderful, that such power should 
be put into any creature. And the better 
you know me, the more would you ad- 
mire. 

Boy. I see it ; I know it : I have always 
found it so; and this is why I like to look 
and listen. Yes, I saw you strike your prey 
the other day, and the force of your stroke 
made me shiver for the poor bird you maim- 
ed, and for the other which you killed ; and 
yet your strength was not spent ; you did 
not wait and gather up force, like the lion 
or the tiger, for another spring ; nor, like 
the eagle, require to rise up to your height 
again for another stoop ; but you dashed 
on, striking as you went, and carrying all 
before you. It seemed cruel work ; but 
yet I know you must live. 



THE GER-FALCON. 



149 



Falcon. I must ; and you, surely, will 
not act the tyrant and usurper. These 
lands are none of yours : this barren waste 
has been our sporting ground for ages ; and 
the birds and animals that haunt it have 
many a happy day in spite of us. They 
are prepared too for us, it is not an unfair 
chace; and, let me tell you, the shepherds 
have to thank me for saving some of the 
sickly of their flock. I pounce upon the 
raven and the crow, their deadly enemies, 
and seldom indeed do I miss my mark. 
No human archer shoots so truly. 

Boy. I see, now you come nearer, what 
fine long wings you have ; longer a good 
deal than those of the hawks I have been 
used to see. 

Falcon. What ! I suppose you have 
only seen the baser race — those short-wing- 
ed creatures, the kites and sparrow-hawks 
and buzzards. Well, I am glad you have 
found out one difference between me and 
them ; though, of course, you cannot be ex- 
pected to understand our characters at once. 



150 THE GER-FALCON. 

We (and I am the king among them) are 
called the '^ generous hawks." We are far 
more swift, far more bold than the rest ; 
and when we are taken into the service of 
man, we attach ourselves to our keeper, and 
obey his commands and signs. 

Boy. And have you, and such as you, 
noble bird, ever submitted to be governed 
and ordered by man ? It seems strange, 
very strange, when I look at you, who are 
almost as large and wild as an eagle, that 
you should ever allow yourself to be a slave. 

Falcon. I never was a slave ; nor, if I 
can help it, ever shall be. But I could not 
answer for it. We are a grateful and for- 
giving race, and when we have overcome 
our first feelings of anger at our captivity, 
we become fond of those who feed and 
take care of us. It must be allowed that 
the value our masters have for us is a flat- 
tering thing. Pray do you know that there 
was long a law in Iceland which condem- 
ned every man to death who killed a white 
falcon ? 



THK GER-FALCON. 151 

Boy. But you are not white. 

Falcon. No ; but I have already chang- 
ed my plumage several times, and perhaps 
I shall be white at last. I know some who 
are like the driven snow for whiteness, and 
these are the most valuable. The king of 
Denmark prized them so much that he used 
to send his falconer over, every year, to 
procure a supply ; and when he had obtain- 
ed them, he used to give them as presents 
to other kings. 

Boy. But I cannot understand your use, 
nor how you can be made tame. 

Falcon. Our use has been to amuse 
your race. A falcon is encouraged to catch 
his prey at the command of his master ; to 
bring down birds for his table, whenever 
he requires it ; and the sportsmen have 
pleasure in seeing our combats with our 
enemies. So you find, boy, that while you 
are sorry to see us kill game to satisfy our 
hunger, others have trained us to catch it 
for their amusement. 



152 THE GER-FALCON. 

Boy. Yes, I see. But tell me how you 
are tamed. 

Falcon. I! — not /; I never was tamed: 
but one of my companions has had some 
insight in the business, and I will tell you 
his story. 

When a falcon is first caught, his master 
claps straps upon his legs, which he calls 
jesses, and he fastens a ring to them, upon 
which his name is engraved, that if the bird 
should be lost, the finder may know where 
to bring him back. Little bells, also, are 
hung to the straps, which mark where he 
is, if he should be lost ; so that, in the first 
place, you find it would be hard for him 
to make his escape. 

The falconer always carries him on his 
fist, and he is not allowed to sleep ; and if 
he is stubborn, or if he tries to bite, his head 
is dipped into water. He has then a hood 
put over his head, which covers his eyes ; 
and thus, poor fellow, he is kept without 
food or light or sleep for several days, till 
he is so worn out that he will allow his 



THE GER-FALCON. 153 

master to cover or uncover his head with- 
out resistance ; and then they give him his 
food, which you may be sure he is glad to 
take. 

When he is thus in some measure broken 
in, he is carried out into the air, his head 
is uncovered, and he is taught to jump upon 
the fist and sit there, by having food given 
him. Then it is thought time to make him 
acquainted with the lure^ which is a thing 
stuffed to look like any bird the falconer 
wants him to pursue, whether a pigeon, a 
heron, or a quail ; and they always take 
care to give him his food on this lure. The 
use of it is to tempt him back when he has 
flown into the air. It takes a great deal of 
time and trouble, even after he is acquainted 
with this, and used to return to it when 
called, before he is perfectly fit to do his 
master's pleasure. He is led to fly at all 
sorts of game by being shown these lures, 
and fed upon them ; but ger-falcons are 
chiefly famed for their pursuit of the heron, 
the kite, or the woodlark, because these 



154 THE GER-PALCON. 

birds, instead of flying downwards, as some 
do when they are in danger, strike up 
directly towards the skies. Then the falcon 
mounts upward after them, and strives to 
get higher than they : they mount and 
mount till both are quite lost in the clouds ; 
but soon they will be seen descending, and 
fighting as they come, till the poor quarry 
falls to the ground wounded or dead. 

Boy. I have read of such things in 
books ; but we do not see them now ; and 
you may rest much more quietly now I 
should think, noble bird, than you used to 
do when thousands of pounds were given 
for a cast of hawks. But pray tell me how 
you are caught, for I should think it can 
be no easy matter. 

Falcon. It is much easier for man to 
entrap us than for us to escape his devices. 
The way in which my friend was caught 
he told me ; for, wonderful to say, he made 
his escape and flew back to Iceland, after 
being three years in Denmark. He said 
that he was deceived by the fluttering of a 



THE GER-FALCON. 155 

pigeon which was hung out as a bait; and 
that, when he descended to strike it, he 
found himself on a sudden, he knew not 
how, enclosed in a net. Then he was 
treated much as I have described to you 
in order to train him. To his dying day he 
carried the ring with the king of Denmark's 
device upon his leg, but he managed to get 
rid of the bell. 

Boy. But now tell me how you live 
when you are free, and where you make 
your nests. 

Falcon. I make my nest on my cliffs, 
with twigs, lining the middle with moss 
and feathers : I lay either two or four 
eggs, somewhere about the latter part of 
May or beginning of June. I shall not enter 
very minutely into my history, because as 
yet we have managed to escape very close 
observation from man, in our true state, 
and we wish to do so still. You will not 
find me often here; and the weather in these 
high Scotch regions is so uncertain that 1 
can hardly recommend you to wait for my 



156 THE GER-FALCON. 

coming another day; but I am glad we met 
to-day. 

If you should meet with my cousin Per- 
egrine in the course of your rambles you 
may more easily become acquainted with 
him than with me. Both in Scotland and in 
Wales you may frequently see him, if you 
do but find out his most usual haunts. He 
is smaller than I am, for my length is twenty 
inches, and the stretch of my wings four 
feet, whereas he is hardly sixteen inches ; 
more than half a foot less in breadth. But 
he is a bold, noble fellow, and will course a 
heron almost as well as myself. It is a fine 
sight to see them up in the air together ; the 
heron striving to keep highest, and when he 
has failed in that, doubling back his neck, 
and presenting his sharp-pointed bill up- 
''wards, behind his wing, to the falcon, so 
that Peregrine cannot strike his head or 
neck, and is obliged to take care lest he 
should fall upon this sharp point, and be 
himself wounded. 

Boy. But I want to ask you ? 



THE GER-FALCON. 157 

Bird, wonderful bird ! what is become of 
you ? I see nothing but a dark speck 
hovering over me : — higher it flies, higher 
— it is gone ! Now it has taken the North- 
ern way. It is going ! — it is gone ! It will 
be in Iceland before the night. Oh, when 
shall I see it again ? 



NOTE I. 

Dr. Shaw says that " the flight of a strong falcon is 
wonderfully swift. It is recorded that one belonging to a 
duke of Cleves flew out of Westphalia into Prussia in one 
day ; and in Norfolk a hawk has made a flight at a wood- 
cock near thirty miles in an hour." — Montagu. 

But what are these, compared to the velocity and con- 
tinuance of that flight recorded to have been performed by a 
falcon belonging to Henry IV. of France, which escaped 
from Fontainebleau, and in twenty-four hours after was 
found in Malta, a distance not less than one thousand three 
hundred and fifty miles, a velocity equal to fifty-seven miles 
an hour, supposing the hawk to have been on wing the 
whole time. But these birds never fly by night ; and allow- 
ing eighteen hours light, his flight must have been seventy- 
five miles an hour. But it is not probable either that he 
had many hours of light in the twenty-four, or that he was 
retaken the moment of his arrival ; so that we may conclude 
less time was occupied in performing the journey. It is 
very difficult to ascertain the actual distance a falcon may 
fly in a given time in pursuit of its quarry. Colonel Thorn- 



NOTES. 159 

ton says nine miles in eleven minutes ^ independent of the 
numerous turns : and the force with which they strike at 
their utmost speed is such that Colonel Thornton has known 
a hawk of his cut a snipe into two parts. Probably a hawk 
and other birds pursued or pursuing, fly at the rate of not 
less than one hundred and fifty miles per hour ; and cer- 
tainly one hundred miles is not beyond a fair computation 
for migratory continuance, not only of the hawk, but of the 
wood-cock, snipe, and other similar birds. The eider 
duck's usual flight has been ascertained to be not less than 
at the rate of ninety miles an hour ; a sparrow will fly at 
the rate of more than thirty miles an hour. 



NOTE II. 

A correspondent in " Loudon's Magazine of Natural His- 
tory," No. 32, p. 107, who seems to have had good opportu- 
nity of enquiry into the characteristics of the different 
species of falcons, gives it as the opinion of " several emi- 
nent falconers of the old school," that the ger-falcon of 
Northern Europe is of a race distinct from the Iceland fal- 
con. Great regard is to be paid to the testimony of such 
persons, especially as they were in the yearly habit of send- 
ing to Norway and Sweden for ger-falcons, at the time when 
Iceland falcons were most in request ; and from the familiar 
acquaintance thus obtained with both species, it is highly 
probable their judgment is correct. They state the Ice- 



160 NOTES. 

land falcon to be rather larger than the ger ; the wing? 
longer, (an important distinction,) and tail shorter ; the 
older birds nearly white on the head, and sometimes on the 
whole body. The head, also, larger. At the same time 
they describe the bird as being more manageable, and that 
there is a decided difference in the mode of striking its prey. 

" An old falconer, lately dead," says Mr. Loudon's cor- 
respondent, Mr. Hay, of Stoke Nayland, Suffolk, " has as- 
sured me he has seen upwards of fifty Iceland falcons, at 
the same time, in the care of persons who were about to 
start with them as presents to the different courts of 
Europe." 

On the single authority of Mr. Mudie,* (as far as I am 
aware, for I have not been able to find any other,) I have 
represented the Iceland falcon as visiting the north of 
Scotland. The ger certainly does ; and as it has never yet 
been found to breed there, it remains to be proved whether 
such visitants as appear on our northern shores are of Nor- 
wegian or Icelandic parentage. The probabilities seem, I 
think, in favour of the latter. 



Feathered Tribes. 




i 



■niK BA^'K SWALLO^V 



THE BANK SWALLOWS. 



When Charles reached the dingle, he 
lost his way among the intricate paths ; and 
instead of coming to the riven oak and the 
otter's hole, as he intended, he suddenly- 
issued from the thick shade, at a spot which 
he had never seen. 

A beautiful little glade was before him. 
Charles was so enchanted, that his first ex- 
clamation was, " Oh ! to have a little rustic 
hut and live here always. But perhaps I 
should find it rather dull sometimes, espe- 
cially in dark rainy weather." With this 
satisfactory conclusion he laid himself 
down, and shutting his eyes, listened to the 
many varieties of song which were poured 



k 



1(52 THE BANK SWALLOWS. 

forth on every side. "There! that is the 
Linnet, I know very well : but hark ! what 
noise is that: so loud and harsh, just like 
the old watchman's rattle which I found in 
the lumber-room ;" and Charles suddenly 
raised himself on one elbow, and looked 
eagerly around him. 

Presently he heard the noise again, and 
then he crept quietly to the spot. There, 
perched on a withered branch which bent 
over the water, was a bird of brilliant plu- 
mage, bright blue and green blending into 
one. His throat was nearly white, and his 
wings tipped with black ; in size, he was not 
much larger than a sparrow; his beak was 
of a greenish yellow, long and slender, and 
his legs very short, and far back in the body. 

His bright eye seemed to pierce the water 
beneath him in every direction, as if in 
search of prey. Charles admired him ex- 
tremely ; he thought him the handsomest 
English bird he had ever seen ; indeed he 
began to doubt if he were not some caged 
pet, who had escaped from confinement. 



THE BANK SWALLOWS. 163 

Suddenly the bird threw himself forward, 
plunged his head in the stream, and seized 
a little fish, which he swallowed in an 
instant. " Ho ! ho ! my pretty creature," 
thought Charles ; " so you live by fishing as 
well as the otter. Well ! I suppose I must 
not quarrel with you for that." Now the 
bird quitted his perch, and skimmed over 
the water, at a small height above its sur- 
face, sustaining himself by a rapid motion of 
his wings, frequently plunging, however, for 
the fish which caught his eye below. 

At last he disappeared along the windings 
of the stream from Charles' sight, who had 
been taking particular notice of his plumage 
and actions, that he might describe them to 
his mamma; and, in return, learn from her 
the name of this beautiful bird, and what 
kind of a nest he made for himself. 

In the afternoon Charles busied himself 
in putting his own and Elizabeth's garden 
in good order, and in repairing the lattice- 
work of their little arbour; thus bringing 
into use a small, but complete, box of tools, 



164 THE BANK SWALLOWS. 

which his grandpapa had sent him on his 
birth-day. Having neatly finished his work, 
and trained the honeysuckle over it, he re- 
turned to the house, and was glad to find 
that his tea was waiting for him. When 
this was dispatched, he begged the cook to 
allow him to walk about a quarter of a 
mile up the road, to the brow of a steep 
hill, and there to watch for the return of his 
parents and their guest ; who had gone to 
visit the ruins of an ancient abbey. Aftei 
many strict injunctions not to wander from 
the road, he received the desired permis- 
sion. Charles sauntered slowly along, gath- 
ering many flowers from the hedges, or 
stopping to admire the pretty moths, whom 
he had unintentionally disturbed ; until hav- 
ing gained the prescribed spot, he strained 
his eyes along the whole extent of road 
which was spread before him, traversing 
hill and valley ; but no wagon, no cantering 
pony, could he see. He looked around for 
some amusement to beguile the time ; when 
the thought struck him, " If I could climb 



THE BANK SWALLOWS. 165 

this very high bank, I should be able to see 
much farther, and into the valleys too." 

In order to accomplish his object, it was 
necessary to use both hands and feet, and 
to catch firmly hold of the tufts of grass to 
prevent himself from falling. " Really," 
thought he, "I did not expect such hard 
work as this, or I should have been con- 
tent to stay where I was. I must sit down 
here to get my breath again. I cannot 
imagine," continued he, looking around him, 
*'how all those little holes in the bank came 
to be made ; they seem very deep ; I think 
I can crawl along this ridge and examine 
one." With great caution, Charles pro- 
ceeded until he reached the nearest hole. 
It appeared to have been recently made, 
as the sand which had been thrown out of 
it was quite soft and loose. Charles gently 
thrust in his arm, but could not reach to the 
extremity ; he found that the passage was 
rather winding, and sloped gradually up- 
wards. 

But he was soon disturbed in his employ- 



166 THE BANK SWALLOWS. 

inent by the arrival of a pair of swallows, 
who fluttered fearlessly around him, skim- 
ming over the holes, apparently in great 
distress. Charles could not at first com- 
prehend their singular actions ; but on see- 
ing some more of their kind flying in and 
out of another distant hole, he instantly 
guessed how the matter stood. '' Poor little 
birds ! " said he, " have you been at the 
trouble to dig this deep place in the hard 
sand? and do you think I am going to de- 
stroy it, or to take your young ones, which, 
I suppose, are laid snugly at the bottom of 
it ? No, no ; I would not do it for the 
world ; I only wanted to find out something 
new. There, now, I am going away as fast 
as I can." 

Altered from Charlie's Discoveries. 




aHiU WCODPJLCKttK 



THE WOODPECKER. 

It was a bright and fair morning ; not a 
cloud was to be seen in the deep blue 
heavens, and a cool refreshing breeze 
moderated the heat of the summer sun. 

The children in high spirits, and with 
faces as cloudless as the sky, were delight- 
ed with all the new and interesting objects 
which they passed in their ride. At the 
foot of an abrupt descent, Mr. Graham stop- 
ped for a few minutes to listen to the mur- 
muring of a waterfall, at a little distance 
from the road, but obscured from it by the 
dense foliage. " Dear Papa," said Charles, 
"may we get out and look at it? we will 
not be long." 



168 THE WOODPECKER. 

''I have a great curiosity to see it as well 
as Charlie," said Herbert; ''it will be in 
perfection, after the late rains ; so come 
along, dears : let me lift you out, Bessie. 
And now for a high jump over these 
palings," 

'' Oh ! how beautiful ! how lovely ! " ex- 
claimed the children in astonishment, as 
they watched the bright stream of water 
come dashing down from above, and break 
in white surf over the small rocks at the 
bottom. " Why, I really think," said Eliza- 
beth, watching her brother's eyes stead- 
fastly fixed upon the foaming torrent, 
" Charlie has made another discovery ! " 
" I have indeed, Bessie, if I am not greatly 
mistaken," said Charles. " There ! there 
it is again ! " he continued, jumping with 
ecstacy. "Do pray look, cousin Herbert! 
I can see every few moments a beautiful 
rainbow, forming a pretty-coloured circle 
over the dashing spray. There ! do pray 
look." 

''I observed it, my dear boy," said Her- 



THE WOODPECKER. 169 

bert ; " but was waiting to see if your curi- 
ous eyes would discover it. It is a sight 
but seldom seen. We are very fortunate in 
coming to the spot just in time ; in a few 
minutes, when the sun has gone behind 
those trees, you will lose sight of the rain- 
bow." 

"It is really a very pretty spot," said 
Mrs. Graham, joining them ; the different 
shades of foliage on the banks of the stream 
are charming." 

"Yes," said Herbert; "I always like to 
see the light trembling birch, mixed with 
the massy oak, sycamore, and fir. But 
Papa is calling us ; so, come here, you little 
wild things," added he, leading the children 
from a miniature hill, up and down the 
sides of which they had been racing. 

" There!" said Mr. Graham, just as they 
passed the last house of a picturesque vil- 
lage, " do you see that beautiful thatched 
cottage, Herbert, with a veranda running 
all round it, and its latticed windows almost 
hidden with roses?" 



170 THE WOODPECKER. 

"Yes," said Herbert; "and a sweet place 
it is. Pray is that Mr. Howard's?" 

"It is ; and if you admire it at this dis- 
tance, I am sure you will much more on a 
nearer view." 

Charles and Elizabeth were in ecstasies 
at the place, and at the kind welcome which 
they received from Mr. and Mrs. Howard. 
After having partaken of some refreshments, 
they ran into the garden, with full permis- 
sion to explore very part of it. 

" Did you ever see such a delightfu] 
place, Charhe?" began Elizabeth; "do lei 
us come first of all down this winding path, 
all arched over from one end to the other 
with ivy, and honeysuckle, and clematis 
and passion-flower, and many things which 
I do not know the name of. Oh ! how cool 
and pleasant the shade is !" 

"Well, really!" said Charles, " I never 
expected to find anything like this ; but 
come on, Bessie, for I caught a glimpse of 
something like a ruined tower at the end. 
And so it is too ; take care how you come 



THE WOODPECKER. 171 

up this broken-down staircase : I wonder 
where it leads to." 

" To the roof, most likely," said Eliza- 
beth ; " where the wall-flowers and snap- 
dragons are growing. Yes, here we are, 
you see ; what a nice view of the house ! 
and there is cousin Herbert standing by the 
glass-door ; I wish he would look this way." 
" And now," said Charles, '' as we have 
seen all that is to be seen, let us go quite to 
the farthest end of the garden, and try to 
lose our way." 

Away they therefore wandered, peeping 
into many a rustic arbour, or fantastic sum- 
mer-house, built in the fashion of the Chi- 
nese, until their farther progress was im- 
peded by a little tinkling brook. 

'' Let us try and find out where this 
rises," said Charles, darting among the 
bushes which clothed its banks ; '' who 
knows but we may make some wonderful 
discoveries; mind you do not tear your 
frock, Bessie. I am glad to see we are 
coming to more open ground." 



172 THE WOODPECKER. 

" So am I," said Elizabeth ; " it is un- 
comfortable enough here ; my feet are cover- 
ed with little burs, which prick me very 
disagreeably. Hark ! Charhe, what is that 
tapping noise, which I hear every now and 
then?" 

Charles placed himself in a hstening pos- 
ture for a few minutes, and then said, ''I 
think it must be a woodman at work 
amongst those high trees ; let us go and 
see. How dark and shady this wood is ! 
Tread softly now, Bessie, and I hope I 
shall make another discovery, for there is 
no woodman near, and the tapping is 
almost close to us. Hark ! " 

As Charles finished speaking, he led his 
sister beneath the wide-spreading branches 
of a once majestic elm ; but its beauty was 
now going to decay, and its massy trunk 
appeared crumbling and hollow. 

After silently examining every part, 
Charles, with a joyful smile, pointed to a 
bird of considerable size, who was ascend- 
ing the stem of the tree in a spiral direc- 



THE WOODPECKER. 173 

tion ; and by striking the bark almost inces- 
santly with his long, hard beak, caused the 
noise which had attracted Elizabeth's at- 
tention. 

"What can he be doing?" said Charles; 
" I wish some one was here to tell us his 
name, and all about him." 

"What do you want to know, Charhe?" 
said a well-known voice behind them ; " it 
is said, ' think of a person, and he will 
appear.' I hope it was for me you were 
wishing." 

"Oh! cousin Herbert," said Elizabeth, 
" how you made me jump ! I had no idea 
any one was near us ' 

" I am very glad you are come," said 
Charles ; " but if we make such a noise, 
we shall frighten away the very thing I 
wanted you for. Look up, and you will 
see a bird running along on the under side 
of that branch, with his head downwards, 
like a fly : and now listen, he has begun to 
tap again." 

" He is a Green WoodpecJcer,^^ said Her- 



174 THE WOODPECKER. 

bert, " and a great favourite of mine ; though 
sometimes his cry sounds very dismally 
through the woods, especially that which 
he utters on the approach of rain : at other 
times it resembles a loud burst of laughter 
often repeated." 

" How much I should like to hear that^'^^ 
said Charles. '' But why does he strike the 
bark in that manner, if you please?" 

'' In order to arouse, and drive out of their 
concealment, the swarms of insects which 
infest the trunks of trees, decayed ones in 
particular ; these are the food on which the 
Woodpecker subsists, and his beak and 
tongue are perfectly adapted for procuring 
it ; the former being extremely hard and 
sharp at the point ; and the latter very long, 
and tipped with a bony substance, to ena- 
ble him to dart it into the holes after his 
prey. 

" The Woodpecker's nest is excavated in 
the trunk of a tree, running in a sloping 
direction for several inches, and then 
straight down for ten or twelve more. The 



THE WOODPECKER. 175 

opening is but just large enough to admit 
the bird ; but it is roomy and capacious 
within, and frequently smoothly polished. 
At the bottom of the cavity, from four to 
six pure white eggs are placed, generally 
on the bare wood, though now and then a 
softer bed of moss or wool is prepared. 
The young birds may be seen scrambling 
about on the tree, which contains their 
home, long before they are able to fly. 

<' The Woodpeckers abound in groat 
numbers and variety in the American for- 
ests, where, however, they have many ene- 
mies : among the most deadly of which is 
a black snake, who frequently glides up the 
tree, enters the Woodpecker's quiet abode, 
and devours the eggs or the helpless young, 
in spite of the cries and flutterings of the 
parent birds. If the empty nest be large 
enough, this destructive creature will coil 
himself up in it, and remain there at ease 
for several days. The gentleman who 
relates this, says, that he has known adven- 
turous school-boys, who, having climbed 



b 



176 THE WOODPECKER. 

with great danger to the Wookpecker's hole, 
for the purpose of robbing it, have grasped 
what they thought to be the tender young; 
when lo ! to their horror, they drew forth a 
hideous snake. In one of these instances, 
the boy's fright was so great, that he, 
with the snake, fell to the ground ; and a 
broken bone and long confinement com- 
pletely cured him of his cruelty in robbing 
bird's nests." 

"How dreadful!" said Charles; "I do 
not wonder at his being so frightened." 

" The same American Naturalist," con- 
tinued Herbert, " once captured a Wood- 
pecker, which was slightly wounded in the 
wing. Its loud and piteous note on being 
caught was most distressing, and so terrified 
the gentleman's horse, as to render it almost 
unmanageable. As he carried the bird 
through the town to the inn, its affecting 
cry, (very similar to that of a young child,) 
surprised every one ; and many women ran 
to their doors in alarm, to see what was the 
matter. 



THE WOODPECKER. 177 

" When he arrived at the inn, the land- 
lord and a number of persons who stood 
near, seemed equally alarmed at what they 
heard ; and when the gentleman jocosely 
asked if they had accommodation for him 
and his baby, they stared in still greater 
astonishment : at length, after diverting him- 
self at their expense for several minutes, he 
drew forth his captive Woodpecker, and a 
hearty laugh went round. 

" On returning to the room where he had 
confined his prisoner, while he went to see 
after his horse, he set up the same distress- 
ing shout, which now seemed to proceed 
from grief, at his attempt to escape having 
been discovered. He had actually broken 
away a large piece of plaster from the ceil- 
ing, and probably, in another hour would 
have been at liberty. He was then tied 
securely by the leg, while his master pro- 
cured him some food : but still he was not 
idle ; for on the gentleman's return, he had 
the mortification to find that he had almost 
ruined the mahogany table, to which he 



178 THE WOODPECKER. 

was fastened, and on which he had expend- 
ed his rage." 

"Poor thing!" said CharHe ; " I hope 
the gentleman let him have his liberty after 
that." "No, I am sorry to say he did not, 
though his noble and untameable spirit fre- 
quently tempted him to do so. The Wood- 
pecker refused all food, and died at the end 
of three days." 

" Well, that was a pity," said Charles. 
" Was he of the same kind as the one we 
have just seen?" — "No; he was an Ivory- 
billed Woodpecker ; one of the strongest of 
the race : his bill is as white, and tougher, 
if not harder, than ivory." 

"It is just three o'clock," continued Her- 
bert ; " so we must return as quickty as 
we can, lest we should keep dinner wait- 
ing." 

" My dear children," said Mr. Graham, 
as they entered the dining-room, ''how 
heated you look ! I must not have you run 
wild in this manner any more to-day, or 
you will be quite overdone. You will find 



THE WOODPECKER. 179 

plenty of amusement in looking at Mr. How- 
ard's curiosities in-doors." 

''I should think," said Mr. Howard, "that 
they are acquainted with every hole and 
corner in my domain by this time." 

" Oh, sir," said Elizabeth, ''we have been 
so delighted with everj^ thing, but particu- 
larly with a woodpecker, which we (at 
least Charlie) discovered on the banks of 
a little brook." 

''Indeed!" said Mr. Howard; "pray is 
Charles famous for discoveries?" 

"Yes, very famous," said Elizabeth. 

" Hush, hush !" said Charles, pulling her 
sleeve, while the colour rose to her temples. 

Elizabeth was always eloquent when her 
brother was the theme ; and there is no tell- 
ing how much longer she might have chat- 
tered on, if she had not received an ad- 
monitory look from her Mamma, remind- 
ing her that little girls should not talk much 
at meal times. 

Altered from Charlie's Discoveries. 



THE HUMMING BIRDS. 



When the party retired to the drawing- 
room, Charles immediately led his sister to 
a large case of beautiful foreign birds, prin- 
cipally humming-birds, whose dazzling plu- 
mage struck the children with astonishment 
and admiration: they thought they had 
never seen such brilhant colours before. 

"Look at this beautiful little nest," said 
Charles, ''containing two eggs about the 
size of peas : does not this bird sitting by 
it, look as if it were ahve ?" 

''Yes," said Elizabeth: " and here is her 
mate, I suppose, dipping his long biU into a 
flower." 




THii: CA.MFAMfiRO. 



i 



THE HUMMING BIRDS. 181 

"Do you know why he does that?" said 
Mr. Howard. — " No," said Charles ; " will 
you be so kind as to tell us ?" — " To ex- 
tract the nectar^ or honey, which is his food. 
These lovely httle creatures receive their 
name from a humming sound, caused by 
the rapid motion of their wings in flight. 
As they flit from flower to flower beneath 
the bright sun, they appear to be clothed 
in gems and gold, and almost dazzle the eye 
with their brilhancy." 

"Do they sing, if you please?" asked 
Charles. 

"No; they merely utter a short cry while 
on the wing, which is not very musical." 

" Look at this snow-white bird, Charlie," 
said Elizabeth ; " I wonder what it is." 

" That is a Campanero, my dear," said 
Mr. Howard ; " he is a native of South 
America, as well as the Humming-bird. 
His note is a very singular one, resembling 
the solemn tolling of a bell repeated every 
few minutes, and which may be heard at 
the distance of three miles. No sound or 



182 THE HUMMING BIRDS. 

song from any of the dwellers in the dark 
forests causes such astonishment as the toll 
of the Campanero. But here is a book, 
which I think will interest you ; it is full of 
paintings of foreign birds ; and I dare say 
you can find the representation of several 
that are in this case." 

The children were much amused with the 
book, and had only just finished its exami- 
nation, when tea was brought in ; almost 
immediately after which they prepared for 
their departure. 

As Charles and Elizabeth bade adieu to 
Mr. and Mrs. Howard, they were each pre- 
sented with a small packet, neatly directed, 
with an injunction that they were not to be 
opened until their arrival at home. " Oh ! 
Charlie," said Elizabeth, as they drove off, 
" I am so impatient to see what mine con- 
tains, I do not know how to wait." 

"Stay, dear Bessie," said he: ''you really 
must not peep like that. Why ! you have 
torn the paper. Let me ask mamma to take 
care of it." 



THE HUMMING BIRDS. 183 

*' Give it to me, my dear," said Herbert ; 
" I see your little fingers itch to pull off the 
string. See, how patiently Charlie waits : 
he looks so serious ; I wonder what he is 
thinking about." 

" I was thinking," said he, " of all the 
beautiful things which there are in the world, 
and which I am sure ought to make us hap- 
py ; and I wondered how any one could 
help loving God, who made them all." 

*' My dear child," said Herbert, putting 
his arm affectionately round him, "it is in- 
deed sad to think that so many intelligent 
beings, who have the power of seeing and 
admiring the amazing works of the Creator, 
should yet remain unmindful of Him, and 
insensible to His love ; when, if they were 
so disposed, they might learn of His power 
and goodness from every thing around them ; 
from the lofty mountains, and the mighty 
ocean, to the minutest plant and insect. 
Shall I repeat to you a beautiful hymn, 
which I have often heard a dear little 
nephew sing? 



184 THE HUMMING BIRDS. 

* There's not a leaf within the bower ; 

There's not a bird upon the tree ; 
There's not a dew-drop on the flower, 

But bears the impress, Lord, of thee. 

Thy hand the varied leaf design'd, 
And gave the bird its thrilling tone ; 

Thy power the dew-drops' tints combin'd, 
Till like a diamond's blaze they shone. 

Yes, dew-drops, leaves, and buds, and all. 
The smallest like the greatest things ; 

The sea's vast space, the earth's wide ball, 
Alike proclaim Thee King of kings. 

But man alone to bounteous Heaven 

Thanksgiving's conscious strains can raise ; 

To favour'd man alone 'tis given 

To join the angelic choir in praise.'" 

" And now," said Elizabeth, as they ar- 
rived at the well-known house, and even 
before the door was opened, " nothing can 
prevent my looking at my present : please, 
cousin Herbert, give it to me." 

" When we are in the parlour. There, 
now you may take it ; let me cut the string 
for you." 

Elizabeth was delighted with its contents, 



THE HUMMING BIRDS. 185 

consisting of an elegant French box, furnish- 
ed with scissors, thimble, bodkin-case, &c., 
all of silver. Charles gave an admiring 
glance at it, before he proceeded to examine 
his own gift, which pleased him almost be- 
yond expression. Beneath a small glass 
shade was a splendid Humming-bird, gleam- 
ing with green and gold : it was perched on 
a mossy spray, with its wings spread as if 
in the act of taking flight. " Look here," 
said Elizabeth ; " here is something which 
you have not seen, Charlie ; I think it is a 
letter." 

" No," said Charles, " it is a piece of 
poetry : will you read it, please, cousin 
Herbert; the writing is so difl[icult." 

" Certainly, dear ; it is part of a piece on 
the Humming-bird, by Mary Howitt. 

« The humming-bird ! — the humming-bird, 

So fairy-like and bright ; 
It lives among the sunny flowers, 

A creature of delight ! 

In the radiant island of the East, 
Where fragrant spices grow, 
2A 



186 THE HUMMING BIRDS. 

A thousand, thousand humming-birds 
Are glancing to and fro. 

Like living fires they flit about, 

Scarce larger than a bee, 
Among the dusk palmetto leaves, 

And through the fan-palm tree. 

And in the w^ild and verdant woods. 

Where stately morass tower, — 
Where hangs from branching tree to tree. 

The scarlet passion-flower : 

* * • 

There builds her nest the humming-bird, 
Within the ancient wood — 

Her nest of silky cotton down. 
And rears her tiny brood. 

She hangs it to a slender twig. 
Where waves it light and free. 

As the Campanero tolls his song, 
And rocks the mighty tree. 

All crimson is her shining breast, 

Like to the red, red rose ; 
Her wing the changeful green and blue, 

That the neck of the peacock shows. 

Thou happy, happy humming-bird. 
No winter round thee lowers ; 

Thou never saw'st a leafless tree. 
Nor land without sweet flowers. 



THE HUMMING BIRDS. 187 

* * * 

Thou little shining creature, 

God save thee from the flood. 
With eagle of the mountain land. 

And tiger of the wood ! 

Who cared to save the elephant. 

He, also, cared for thee, 
And gave those broad lands for thy home. 

Where grovy^s the cedar-tree !' " 

" Well ! my dears," said Herbert, as he 
met Charles and Elizabeth in the garden, at 
an early hour on the next morning ; ''so 
this is the last ramble I can take with you 
for some time to come, at least ; but we shall 
have very many pleasant hours to think 
about when we are separated. Why, Bes- 
sie ! I did not mean to call forth those bright 
tears ; dry them up quickly, there's a good 
girl, for it grieves me to see them." 

'' She did not intend to grieve you, dear 
cousin Herbert," said Charles; "but we are 
both so sorry you are going away ; every 
place will seem so dull without you." 

" No, Charlie," replied Herbert, " not 
while your dear papa and mamma are here; 



188 THE HUMMING BIRDS. 

they are always cheerful. But I will tell 
you of a plan ; whenever you are inclined 
to feel dull, set about some useful or amus- 
ing employment ; and instead of dwelling 
on present troubles, picture to yourself a 
happy future." 

''Yes," said Elizabeth, "that is what I 
shall do. I shall plan all about your next 
visit, which, you must remember, is to be 
before long: and instead of guessing whether 
you will be kind or cross, and short or tall, 
as I did when first we heard you were com- 
ing, I shall think of all the pretty places 
we must take you to see, and of the things 
I want to talk to you about. 

" I intend for the future," said Charles, 
" to keep my garden in excellent order, that 
it may be fit for you to see at any time. 

'' It is a good way," said Herbert, ''to be 
always prepared ; for very hkely I shall pop 
in upon you, quite unawares, some of these 
days." 

"I am afraid it is going to be a wet 
day," said Charles, looking up at the gath- 



THE HUMMING BIRDS. 189 

ering clouds ; " there is scarcely any blue 
sky to be seen, and no bright sunshine. 
Ah ! there, I felt a drop of rain on my 
face." 

" What a bad job !" said Herbert ; " I 
dislike travelling when every thing is drip- 
ping with wet. But let us come in now, for 
it is high time we were at breakfast, and 
mamma is already at her post at the table." 

The parting moment came at last; and 
though Herbert's own feelings were none of 
the most agreeable, he managed to keep up 
the spirits of the party pretty well. Even 
Elizabeth could not help smiling through her 
tears, as she gave him a half cheerful, half 
melancholy nod, when the post chaise rat- 
tled away from the door. 

Having watched till it was out of sight, 
the children returned silently to the school- 
room, to prepare their lessons ; each deter- 
mining to give their whole minds to their 
duty, knowing that this would afford their 
mamma true pleasure. 

Day after day passed in the same happy 



190 THE HUMMING BIRDS. 

routine ; on each succeeding one gaining 
new stores of information, and giving and 
receiving happiness. 

And here we must bid adieu to httle 
Charles, and his sister, as it is not our inten- 
tion to write a history of their lives ; but 
merely to let other little boys and girls learn 
from their example, to search out the innu- 
merable objects of interest within their reach, 
and to tell them what a pure delight re- 
wards those who study the beauteous works 
of Nature's God. His works fill the whole 
world : the air, the earth, and the wide 
waters, are full of hfe ; and we must ac 
knowledge that even the smallest thing tha 
breathes, is curiously and wonderfully made 
and we are well assured that nothing ha 
ever been created in vain. 

Altered from Charlie's Discoveries, 



^ 



:; ,7 lai'J 




.^^°- 



.^^ o^ 






■"^^0^ 













0^"'^-^>^.'',.<^^ '"-^ rO\s^^^,^^^^ o-\ 
























\''<i%^.^ Js' 



<?" °^ 


























^cP<f 









.0^ 






^^0^ 

^^^^- 



x^^ ^ 













.^ 









'^' ''^-^ ^^^ «^^l 






f 











